


Fireflies in the Dark

by WinchesterPooja (chronic_potterphile)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Bisexual Castiel, Brotherly Love, Depression, Dissociation, Doctor!Cas, Drama, Drug Addiction, Emotional Manipulation, Eventual Happy Ending, F/F, F/M, Family, Gay Dean, Grief/Mourning, Hurt Castiel, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mentally Ill Sam, Minor Character Death, Mutual Pining, Non-Explicit Sex, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Permanent Injury, Pre-Law!Sam, Rape Aftermath, Rape Recovery, Rape/Non-con Elements, Romance, Self-Harm, Slow Build Castiel/Dean Winchester, Slow Burn, Substance Abuse, Suicidal Thoughts, Supernatural Ladies, Terrorism, Therapy, mechanic!Dean
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-16
Updated: 2018-04-17
Packaged: 2018-04-21 02:59:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 12
Words: 55,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4812443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chronic_potterphile/pseuds/WinchesterPooja
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Dr Castiel Novak receives his last patient for the day at the ER, he doesn't know just how drastically his life is about to change. Meanwhile, Special Agent Bobby Singer has some terrible news to deliver to the Winchester boys.</p><p>As each new breath and heartbeat becomes a miracle and a luxury, Cas and the Winchesters learn to live, love and sacrifice. They learn to be grateful for what they have and to hope. Because sometimes hope is the only thing that can keep you going.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. End of Duty

**Author's Note:**

> **DISCLAIMER: These characters do not belong to me. They're property of Kripke and the CW. The incidents depicted in this story are COMPLETELY fictional.**
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> I have indicated all trigger warnings in the tag. If I feel like anything else should be added while I write the story, I'll add that and indicate its addition in the A/N. This story will contain sensitive topics like non-con, terrorism, addiction, permanent injury and depression, PTSD, self-harm, etc. Please read all those warnings and take them seriously. The rape will not be graphic. It will get very very dark at points but please remember that it ends happy.
> 
> I would like to thank my two amazing girls, Naila/[iamremy](http://archiveofourown.org/users/iamremy/) and Sanjana/[SPNxBookworm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SPNxBookworm/pseuds/SPNxBookworm) for literally sitting with me and plotting half this thing. Seriously, some of these things are ideas they gave me. This is their story too. Please check their pages, they are extremely talented!
> 
> Lots of hugs and kisses and marshmallows for my beautiful sister, **Nadia** for the banner.  <33
> 
> **This fic has two betas; Naila/[iamremy](http://archiveofourown.org/users/iamremy/) and Allison/[DarcyDelaney](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarcyDelaney/pseuds/DarcyDelaney). These ladies work so so hard on this fic alongside me, I love you both so much! <333**
> 
> And lastly, I'm [winchesterpooja](http://winchesterpooja.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this story! Any feedback will be welcome!

 

~

****  


**_  
_**

**_Halloween Night, 2015_**

**_Houston, Texas_ **

She can feel her life drain out of her. A smile rests on her lips as she meets eyes with the dark shadow before her. There is no pain; none, and for some reason, she is at peace. Maybe she didn't expect it all to end this way, but she knows she's got them.  _She's got them._

They will never even see it coming.

The stars twinkle bright and beautiful as she raises her eyes to them, letting the blackness at the edges of her vision take over. If there's one regret she has, it's her boys, and she wishes she could have brought them back together. But maybe this is the best way for them to reconcile. Maybe this is the failsafe for everything—her country, her job, her boys and her family. And everything that her life has stood for in the last few months.

She is at peace. She can die now.

Although she hopes they'll forgive her for the burden they're going to bear.

She just wants them to be all right.

**~o~**

**_Two days later_ **

**_Stanford Health Care_**

**_California_ **

Dr Cas Novak is almost at the end of his shift when he hears the distant blaring of the ambulance sirens. He's at the door of the ER, been standing here for several minutes and all prepared. He throws away his empty coffee cup and takes a moment to snap on gloves before following the other residents out to receive the patients.

 _"Twenty-two-year-old white male,"_  one of the EMTs had informed them as the ambulance left the accident spot _, "unconscious, showing early signs of shock. He has fourth degree burns on the fingers of his right hand, second degree on his back. Tachypnoeic. It looks like ARDS. Oxygen sats are low. We're intubating and starting him on oxygen."_

The other patient, though, was relatively stable.  _"Twenty-six-year-old white male. Conscious and oriented with mild smoke inhalation. Second degree burns on both forearms. We're starting him on oxygen on a partial rebreathing mask."_

Fourth degree burns are ugly. Cas cringes at the thought of them, watching the ambulance pull to a halt. He and the others hurry forward as the doors open and the paramedics come out pushing a gurney with a soot-covered young man who's laid on his stomach. He's intubated and bagged with his right hand and back loosely bandaged. He's going to be taken to the burn centre as soon as he's stabilised, with a few preliminary tests to make sure he's not hurt elsewhere.

He has brown, floppy hair, his face mostly obscured by the instruments and the flurry of activity around him. Cas waits for the second stretcher with the older, less critical man who looks restless with a mask on his face. He's trying to get it off but the paramedic keeps stopping him, while the other tries to not let him sit up.

"I'll handle it from here," Cas tells them, the nurses by his side. The moment he's there, he has a hand on the patient's bare chest. "Please relax, Mr—"

"Dean Winchester," the paramedic provides. "The other victim is his brother, Sam."

 _Figures,_  Cas thinks. Meanwhile, Dean Winchester's green eyes lock with Cas's in a clear expression of "fuck you." Cas sighs. "Your brother will be fine. We're going to take care of you too."

Dean doesn't seem to care about himself, though, and Cas has to hold him down, fearing he might jump off the gurney to join his younger brother. When they do wheel Dean in, it's to a bed beside his brother's who's being started on IV fluids with the portable X-Ray machine waiting for him. He looks sickly, the ventilator hissing and puffing while he continues to remain unconscious. Anna, Cas's CR, gives him a tight little nod before moving over to draw the curtain separating the beds.

When Cas turns back Dean is sitting up and pulling off the mask.

"Mr Winchester—"

"S'mmy…"

The voice is harsh but heartbroken, full of worry, fear, and adoration and Cas's heart sinks down his chest—maybe even slides down all the way to his stomach. Garth, the nurse, starts to get Dean to lie down again.

"Your brother's gonna be okay, man," he says, turning his eyes to Cas. "You take a breather, all right?"

Dean looks like he wants to rebel, but his eyelids flutter, and Cas knows he's tired. He takes the IV catheter that Garth hands him and works on getting it into a vein on the back of Dean's mercifully undamaged palm. When he's got the lactated Ringer's going in he checks Dean's pulse again as Garth rolls in a cart with the dressing supplies.

"Have you been vaccinated for tetanus in the last four years?" Cas asks him and Dean shakes his head. Cas gets to work loading a small syringe, watching the clear fluid fill into the barrel. His hands are shaking, he notices, but he doesn't know why. This isn't the first time he's seen critical patients or their scared family members but…

_This is somehow different._

Meanwhile there's shuffling from the bed and Dean reaches to get off his mask again. Garth moves ahead for him this time but before Dean can be stopped, he's speaking. "Doc," he manages between little pants, "are… they gonna… cut off his… fingers?"

Cas stops in the middle of getting rid of the air bubbles. Will Dean's brother get an amputation?  _Fourth degree burns_. He doesn't like what he has to say. "I'm afraid so. Yes."

"He's–He's… W–Will he be… able to live… normally?"

"Most amputees are, usually. Mr—" Cas bites his cheek, "Dean, you should keep that mask on." He signals to Garth to get them a sedative. Dean's pulse and respiratory rate are rising and Cas doesn't want him any more anxious. He needs to calm down a lot and really fast.

"Take… care of… my brother," Dean tells him, persistently as he makes to sit up again. "He's–he's pre-law, you know, full-ride and all, and…" his eyes look suspiciously wet as Cas pushes him down gently, gloved hands back on his bare chest. From the corner of his eye he can see Dean's pulse pick up some more, going over to a hundred and twenty and he knows they're heading towards a disaster.

Cas pinches the flesh on Dean's upper arm and stabs the needle in. Dean barely flinches, eyes darting to the direction of his brother's bed, still obscured by the curtains. Cas guesses they're done with the X-Ray now and are probably prepping for Sam's transfer. He looks to Garth who hands him a syringe, muttering, "Versed."

"Dean," Cas speaks calmly, holding on to his patient's gaze for a third time. "Your brother is going to be transferred to the nearest burn centre where he'll get the best care possible. Right now, you need rest and to get your own wounds taken care of." He gets the needle off and opens one of the ports on the IV.

Dean seems to realise what it is when he eyes widen as he sits up. "No!"

"Please get your mask back on." Cas holds his IV steady, pushing the mouth of the syringe in and injecting.

"S…Sammy."

"He'll be okay."

Dean's body loosens, swaying drunkenly. Cas and Garth catch him, lower him back down and his eyelids flutter, green eyes fixing themselves on Cas's for one last time while he adjusts the mask. The gratefulness, anger and betrayal Cas sees there is new to him and he doesn't know if one person can convey so much through their eyes.

He doesn't stop thinking of those eyes when he gets home from his shift that night. He doesn't stop when the next day he hears that Dean's already checked himself out AMA and that he and his brother, Sam, had been victims to a fire at Sam's apartment with Sam's girlfriend Jessica not surviving her injuries. Cas doesn't stop thinking until Dean and his green eyes and his little brother all come back to mix with his life, and in a way he'll remember and love and hate to eternity.

Cas doesn't believe he can fall in love again and he doesn't know that Dean's here to change that about him. He doesn't believe he's seen goodness and humanity at its purest and he doesn't know that will change when he meets Sam.

He also doesn't know what a tangle and a mess he is going to fall into. Cas is yet to live the ugliest, worst times of his life and he will never see it coming.

He will never see  _anything_  coming.

Maybe he can blame himself for it, maybe he can't. Or maybe he can pray to be alive another minute, and then for a few more moments.

Meanwhile, hundreds of miles away, Special Agent Bobby Singer runs a hand over his hair as the doctor pulls the shroud off the body they brought in today. He looks at the empty eyes, the blond hair, and thinks of the heavy loss they've just suffered. Mary Winchester was one of their best.

He sighs. He's going to have to talk to Mary's sons about this.

****


	2. First Time Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to my darling, **iamremy/Naila** for the beta and my other darling, **SPNxBookworm/Sanj** for the incredible amount of support and motivation. :)

****  


 

_**Five months later** _

_**Palo Alto, California** _

"We need a fucking roommate."

Sam glances back at Dean as his brother balls up what looks like the tenth of his many calculations on how exactly they'll have to cut corners this month to afford rent. They've been doing this five months now—compromising and calculating, and Sam doesn't know how long they can go on like this; just that at some point, they won't be able to anymore. And maybe that time has come, he thinks, as he watches Dean rest his head in his hands, face scrunched up in frustration.

As such, this place is an absolute pigeonhole and Sam doesn't know if they can even have roommates, or if he wants any because Dean, in himself, fills every one of those gaps. When Dean's not in a mood to be nice, he alone is sufficient to make everything more of a hellish nightmare than it already is.

"You listening to me, college boy?"

Sam scowls at Dean as he brings his cereal bowl to the table and reaches for the milk. "Like you're not too fucking loud anyway," he mutters under his breath. He reaches for the Advil that Dean's meticulously kept on the table, shakes out two of them and puts them near his coffee.

Dean's eyes rove over to the two pills and back to the bills he's working on. He's rolled up the sleeves of his shirt today and Sam can see the puckered, scarred skin from the burns, the sight of which makes his throat tighten. He doesn't like thinking about it. He doesn't  _ever_  want to look or think about it if he can help it, but that's probably just a dream he can keep dreaming about for the rest of his life. And as he remembers this he lifts his right hand to push the cereal closer to himself.

Dean notices that too—Sam using his  _right_  hand to do something. He raises an eyebrow. "I see the pain's better today."

"You mean the pain in my  _non-existent_   _fingers_?" Sam scoffs as he spoons some cereal into his mouth, remembering the time Dean had said this to him during one of their worse fights.

Dean sighs. "Maybe you could just go easy on the painkillers, you know. They're not very good for your health."

"And if I do that, I get the delight of having only one roommate and not a new one now?"

"Sam, this isn't about the money—"

"It fucking  _is_  about the money," Sam hisses at his brother. "It always has been for you, hasn't it, Dean? Ever since that fire?" He holds up his right hand, the palm devoid of fingers, watching the stubs with disgust at himself. "I'm fucking sorry I got burned badly enough to have my fingers amputated, Dean, because maybe if I'd died, the medical bills would be lesser and you wouldn't be slaving today."

"Dude…"

"And I'm fucking sorry," Sam continues, ignoring his brother as the warmth of anger rises up his cheeks and in his blood, "that you had to sell your garage and Mom's house to move here with me to take care of me and all the unholy medical expenses I've brought upon you. That you're working two jobs here just to provide for my sorry ass." He grits his teeth. "Am I missing something here? Anything else you want to whine about, related to the fucking terrible life you're leading because of me?"

"Dude, I never said that."

"Maybe not out loud," Sam tells him, rising from his place to put his bowl in the sink. He runs a bit of water over it and keeps it down. It's Dean's turn to do the dishes today.

He faces his brother again, despair mixing with the anger. "I see it in you every day, Dean—that you never wanted this life. That you didn't want to be stuck taking care of me, so let's get this straight: I didn't ask you to be here and I don't  _need_  you to be here."

"I wanna be here," Dean tells him softly and the concern in his eyes only makes Sam's heart clench up. Because Dean's lying, isn't he? Who the fuck would want to spend their life with a depressed, anxious amputee? Who would want to sacrifice their entire freedom and life for a fucking invalid younger brother who walked out on them, spitting on their face in return for all the love they'd bestowed on their sibling?

Not Dean. Dean's planning on leaving at some point. He must be. And they fight so much and Sam thinks he's said some real bad shit to his brother… and… and Dean should leave. Go, live his own life, somewhere far away from Sam's mess.

"Sammy."

Dean's gaze is fixed on Sam, who realises that his hands are trembling. He takes a deep breath to calm himself down, thinking of what he'd be doing without Dean around right now. He doesn't know why Dean would stay with him, honestly, but he doesn't know how he'd have even survived five months without his big brother. But Dean shouldn't have stayed and he's stayed and he's stayed, and… Sam's such a fucking  _mess_.  _Exhibit A_ , he thinks, the corner of his lips twitching up, still feeling the tremors in his hands.

Ever since the accident some days are just so hard to get by and before Sam can control the whole tsunami that rages inside him, he will inevitably pick a fight with Dean and ruin both their moods.

He wonders why Dean puts up with him at all.

He needs to leave.

"Sam, what is it, dude?"

And dammit, Dean sounds concerned.

Sam ignores his brother's words, wills himself to stop thinking about…  _everything_. He picks up one of the two Advil and his tremors are stopping, thank God, as he holds the pill up for Dean to see before downing it with the lukewarm coffee. The doctors had told him about this; the phantom pain. Pain in his fucking  _non-existent_  fingers, just as Dean had put it. Pins and needles and throbbing and spasms and cramps and excruciating pain sometimes, like his nails are being torn off, cuticles pulled away…

Sam clenches his jaw. The phantom pain jars at him as though it's been reading his thoughts—which in retrospect is a dumb thing to think about because it is his stupid  _mind_  initiating all the pain. He goes over to the overstuffed couch they'd found at Goodwill and picks up his backpack. Dean's left behind the bills for a while and is clearing the dishes, hands sudsy, as he eyes Sam prepare his things for college.

"You got everything?" he asks Sam, moving a brush over one of the dishes. His apron's hanging off-kilter as one of the threads dangles from the undone knot, and Sam thinks for a moment, about how Dean looks like a disgruntled housewife sending her overgrown son to school.

He gets the image out of his mind. "I'm good."

"I'll be getting off work around the time you finish today. You want me to come pick you up?"

Sam's fingers twinge and he takes a sharp breath.  _Will you really come or does this mean you're leaving,_ he wants to ask, but he doesn't. The doctors told him these thoughts were just lies that his brain fed him. Dean won't leave. Even then, Sam doesn't want to fight with Dean and yell more awful things at him. He wills himself to push this away too, hoping it isn't true.  _It really isn't, is it?_

_Why do you even bother taking care of me, Dean?_

Sam stands there, backpack on his shoulder, keeping his breaths even. First morning of getting back to college after two missed quarters already seems to have started with a bang already. And his hand fucking  _hurts_. He might have to steal some more of that Advil—

His good fist is opened and he feels something being pushed into his palm. Sam blinks down at Dean who's standing in front of him, and who he'd never noticed leaving the sink and walking over.

Dean crosses his arms. "It looks like the pain's worse."

Sam rolls the pill about in his fingers. "Thanks."

"You want the whole bottle? In case it gets bad again?"

Sam hates it when Dean knows what he's thinking. He shrugs. "Guess I can manage. 'Sides, it's not good to have too much of it, right?" He flashes his brother a small smile, and Dean smiles back.

He's not leaving. Not today.

Sam slings his backpack over one shoulder and heads towards the door, taking a deep breath as his heart starts to beat fast. This is it. This is where it all starts again. For five months now Sam's been hiding from everyone—classmates and friends, and the world. But it's time to go back. Time to resume the life he'd had before. Although, it will never quite be the same. And he's not even sure he's ready for it.

Five months ago, Sam's world imploded. Now it's time to rebuild it brick-by-brick.

"Hey," says Dean, interrupting his thoughts. "You're gonna be awesome, Sammy. And wait at the library after class. I'll pick you up. You know what to do if you need something?"

Sam nods. "Call you."

"That's right," Dean replies. "I'm at the garage but I can be there in ten minutes tops."

"I know."

Sam feels a fond hand come up to ruffle his hair, and Dean's leaning against the door, happiness, guilt, and something else shining in his eyes. "Be good, Sammy."

"Yeah, I will," Sam swallows, "jerk."

"Bitch," Dean shoots right back, smiling wider, and Sam basks in the familiarity of it, thinking of how not  _all_  of his world has been destroyed yet. A big part is right here, waving him goodbye, working two jobs for him and making silent, truthful promises of never leaving.

**~o~**

Dean gets to preparing for his own day at work the moment Sam leaves, putting together a chicken sandwich for a slightly more filling breakfast. He hates cereal with a passion. He glances back towards his table where he's been working on some roommate ads a couple of days now. He just needed Sam's approval but he thinks he might have set Sam off the wrong way by mentioning it today. He should have realised Sam wouldn't be up for discussing this when he's actually been dissolving in panic for two days now, thinking about school.

But it's not like Dean can help it. They're really running short on cash.

"Sam is depressed," the doctor had said to Dean months ago. "It's post-traumatic stress, really, all of it. The depression and anxiety, nightmares and flashbacks and panic attacks. He's an amputee who's suffered huge loss, after all."

And that has been the extent of the medical terms. No one had anything to tell them about Jess, about their mom. No one was there to explain why Sam had to suffer all of that.

"He needs support," Dean was told. "Most importantly from you. We can give him medication for his depression and anxiety, but you need to talk to him."

_Sam, talk to me._

_Just fuck off, Dean._

Sam's yelled at Dean, said some awful things and then come back puppy-eyed and apologised. He's started the morning off happy and broken into sobs about Jess and Mom by noon. He's asked Dean why he's being so selfish; why he won't let Sam die. He's left the apartment for hours, not calling, coming back shell-shocked and stiff with Dean trying to get him to relax with some sleep or some prissy tea.

_You fucking told me to go to the bar with you that day and Jess died._

_We needed to talk about Mom._

_I wanted to stay in._

_Had you stayed in, Sam, you'd be dead too._

_And maybe that's better, isn't it? For you?_

_Where the fuck do you get these ideas from?!_

_I know you wanted me to die. That's what I wanted too, Dean. To die. You should have let me die. Why the fuck don't you let me do_ **_anything_** _?_

"You need to give him some space, Dean," the doctor had said, pushing up his glasses. "If he needs air, let him go out. Don't bother him."

_What were you doing out so long, Sam? It's cold as fucking balls!_

_I needed air._

_What, so you could become an icicle?_

_If you were so concerned, Dean, you could have just called._

_And you wouldn't whine to me that I don't let you do anything?_

(A mutter) _. You should just leave and have your own life like you always wanted._

_What?_

_Nothing. I'm good._

_Sure you are._

It's been an awful five months. Dean thinks, as much as he understood Sam better in this time period, they've also drifted apart. He's managed to clam Sam up some more by talking shit and Sam's manage to drive Dean away too, and even though Dean knows all too well his brother's anxiety and stress, sometimes, it's hard to remember that when tempers are running high.

_You sold Mom's house? Are you fucking kidding me?_

_We need the money, Sam._

_Is that all you think about?_

Dean had stood up from the couch, hands on his hips.  _Hey,_ ** _you_** _and all your fucking problems are all I think about, okay? Your non-existent fingers and your fucking grief and loss and medical bills and rehab sessions—which, by the way, you don't even do properly. I think of this shit all fucking day. Even if I don't wanna or don't feel like. Even if my whole fucking head is exploding, wondering what asshole remark or assumption you're going to make because apparently, you are the only one here who lost Mom. You're the only one who's sacrificed crap to make the best of this situation, and I don't fucking exist anymore._  He had gritted his teeth and kicked at the couch before storming away.

That day had been the breaking point, really, and it never was the same between him and Sam again. They do try not to fight; they still do and sometimes it's almost like the old times between them but the things they've said to each other along the way are too jarring and hurtful to let go of and forget so easily.

However, at the end of the day, Dean still knows that Sam has it hard. Sam still knows he can trust Dean. Dean is who Sam seeks his comfort from and that in itself is the best reassurance that Dean can have, that Sam doesn't actually hate him for the shit he says sometimes. That at the end of the day, they can still trust each other, despite the animosity and fighting.

And sometimes, that much is enough.

**~o~**

Sam fumbles in his bag for his laptop after sinking into a chair at the far end of the classroom. He got here early so he wouldn't bump into anyone on the way to class. He's really not ready to talk to any of his old friends yet, or answer their questions. It's been five months, but he still can't get used to Jess not being with him. He can't get rid of the memories of sitting next to her in class or at their apartment together watching movies, her kissing him awake from his sleep or wrapping her arms around him as he cooked breakfast. She was the one who introduced him to the rest of their friends—she was their friend first, and it feels like Sam's betraying Zack, Rebecca, Brady and Freya by still being alive while Jess is… Jess—

He swallows and switches on his laptop. Jess won't be sitting beside him today. She won't suddenly whisper something funny into his ear, her warm breaths ghosting over his skin and giving him goosebumps while they both try not to laugh. She won't join him for lunch and take away his books when he stresses and tries to study while eating. She won't be waiting for him behind some secluded corner of the library where he'll inadvertently set foot trying to look for books or find solace studying, only to be met by Jess and her lips briefly on his.

Jess is  _gone_.

The laptop screen blurs before him and Sam blinks his eyes while he draws in a shaky breath. He doesn't want to think of all that now. There's so much to do—he's back at school and Dean's with him, always there for him even with Sam's crippling fear that his brother is going to eventually abandon him someday. People are always been asking Sam to move on even though it's hard as fuck but Jess is gone and Sam isn't, so…

"Hey."

Sam blinks another time and starts at the strange voice, immediately pushing his right hand into his pocket to hide it. When he turns, there's a woman sitting next to him. She smiles. "I've never seen you in this class."

Sam snorts as he gets his assignments open. "And you happen to know exactly who goes to this school?"

She shrugs. "I remember faces." He watches her long, brown hair flutter, full, rosy lips widening in a smile as she holds her hand out to him. "Ruby Martin."

He holds out his good hand to shake it awkwardly with hers. "Sam Winchester."

"Have I heard your name somewhere?"

"Probably," Sam replies, but doesn't elaborate. His mother's as well has Jess's deaths had made the news last year and he doesn't want anyone pitying him for this. Ruby looks at him a while, frowning, probably trying to place his name, but then gives up as she gets her laptop out.

"Cool."

Sam just smiles ahead at his screen, thinking of the first new person he's met all year without being on the verge of panicking. The professor arrives, drones on, and the familiar sound easing Sam as he takes notes, thinking of hitting the library first thing after class. Dean's going to be so happy with his progress—that Sam's turning into less of a mess, and he feels a little proud of himself.

That is, of course, until he's rushing for history class, and he bumps into Rebecca on the way. She stops, eyes widening at him, and pushes her blonde hair behind an ear as she smiles awkwardly. "Hi, Sam."

**~o~**

_"_ _Dean…"_

"Hey, Sam," Dean wipes his greasy fingers in a washcloth, holding the phone between his ear and shoulder. "How's your first day been so far?"

 _"_ _D-Dean, where are you?"_

Dean straightens, palms his phone. "You okay?"

 _"_ _N-No… Rebecca…"_

"Dude, she's your friend. She won't—"

 _"I m-met… and-and…"_  Dean can hear Sam trying to take steadying breaths, and  _fuck_.

"I'm coming to get you, hang on," he says soothingly. "Where are you?"

 _"_ _In the-in the bathroom."_

"Okay, deep breaths, I'm leaving."

 _"_ _N-no… I screwed up, I—"_

"You didn't, Sammy, you need time. It's ok."

 _"I want t-to stay,"_  Sam whispers.

Dean raises an eyebrow. "That's good then, Sam. Why are you worried?"

 _"I just… I…"_  Sam takes another deep breath.  _"I think I made a new friend, Dean."_

"Okay, that's awesome. Keep going."

 _"_ _I really l-liked class. I wanna do th-this… but…"_

"Hey," Dean tells him, cracking open a cold water bottle and downing half of it before he wipes his sweaty face on the sleeve of his overalls. "You're doing great, kiddo. Keep going. I'm always here, okay?"

 _"_ _Yeah."_

"And you'll meet me for lunch at Ellen's?"

A quiet breath.  _"Okay."_

"Good. And-and, Sammy, you don't need to hang up if you don't feel like. We can keep talking until you wanna, okay?"

 _"Okay."_  Dean hears him swallow.  _"I've gotta get to class."_

"Cool, then. I'll see you in a couple of hours and you tell me all about this new friend. Deal?"

Dean can hear Sam smiling when he says,  _"Deal."_  His brother cuts the phone off from the other end after a hurried 'see ya' and Dean keeps the phone down, pondering. Sammy will get better, he thinks. And if he doesn't, Dean will physically pull him out of this, but he's not letting Sam do this alone.

He thinks this deal—of Dean always being around to pull Sam out of trouble, had been made between him and his brother the moment he had carried Sam out of their burning house almost twenty-three years ago. Dean still remembers his father putting baby Sam into his arms.

"Take your brother outside as fast as you can," he had said, "go, Dean!"

And Dean had run with a crying, flailing Sam while his parents had found their way out behind him. No one had been hurt that night, but Dean thinks, that's where his entire life got associated with fires.

**~o~**

"So who's this new friend of yours?" Dean asks Sam as they dig into Ellen's lasagne. Sam savours the sauce, licking it off from the corner of his lips and remembering how their father made fantastic lasagne too. He dismisses the thought when his throat closes up, and takes a sip of his beer. He's been off the "good stuff" a while now and one of the best aspects of it is that he can drink beer again, and sometimes the other stuff with Dean.

The bar is understandably empty at this point of the day, with only a few customers in to get a couple of drinks. Ellen works on the glasses to ready them for her evening crowd, leaving Sam and Dean alone at the table with her wonderful food.

Sam digs in his fork, pulling out more stringy cheese and slurping it up before speaking to Dean. "Just this one girl in History. Ruby."

"Girl." Dean's grinning already, and Sam can feel his ears grow hot.

"Not like that, jerk."

"Then what's it like, bitch?"

Sam shakes his head. "It's just…" he swallows down some more lasagne, "I… I spoke to someone, Dean. You know, apart from…" He looks up at his brother, and from Dean's expression, he knows exactly what Sam's talking about.

"Yeah, I hear ya," he says. "Good job, Sammy." He looks away a moment and waves his fork at Ellen who's running a dishrag over the glasses. "This is awesome, Ellen!"

"You're welcome, sweetie," she replies as she turns around, tossing the dishrag over her shoulder. She nods at Sam. "Your day going good?"

"Yeah, not bad," he says.

"He has a new girlfriend," Dean pipes up.

"What?"

"No!" Sam's going red again. He throws his used-up napkin at Dean, hitting him square on the cheek and marking it with a spot of sauce. "Shut up, asshole!"

Dean scrunches up his face. "Ew." He bends forward, rubbing his cheek against Sam's shirt sleeve, and Sam pushes him away.

"You're a fucking creep."

"Bitch."

"Ugly."

"Nerd."

"Dumbass—"

 _"_ _Boys!"_

Sam's attention snaps back to Ellen, who nods at the clock behind the counter. "You have classes to get back to, Sam. And Dean, your break's finishing too."

"Shit," Sam mutters, swallowing down the rest of the pasta as quickly as he can before collecting his things and getting up to leave. "See ya, Ellen!"

"Bye, honey," she replies, and Dean nods at Sam as he leaves the bar. Sam nods back at his brother, stepping back into the sun and thinking how he's just left his whole world and comfort behind for the rest of the day.

 _Round two,_  he thinks as he smiles.  _Should be better this time around._

**~o~**

Sam unsurprisingly wants extra time to study at the library once he's done with his classes. Dean speaks to him on the phone as he heads for his evening shift at Ellen's bar, The Roadhouse, and promises to pick Sam up when he's done. Dean doesn't feel up to work at all, though. He's hungry and tired to his very bones and every part of him aches. There were many clients at the garage today and Zachariah, Dean's boss, is less than kind to him. It's Zachariah's daughter, Amy, who is in Sam's class and who knows Sam well enough to convince the prick to let Dean off whenever Sam needs him.

If Dean could afford it, he'd have shown that idiotic geezer his middle finger a long time ago. But that's the thing. He can't. Even with their mom's benefit funds they're barely getting by.

Sam's offered to work a million times, but Dean doesn't want him to until his anxiety eases off a little bit. Pushing Sam out there just like that when he's not prepared isn't the right thing, especially as Dean's been told time and again that Sam needs familiarity and comfort. This new version of Sam is terrifying and heartbreaking to witness, sure, but Dean knows that if he helps his brother, Sam's going to be all right soon.

A few patrons are already in the bar when Dean deposits his bag in the backroom. He extracts the flyer he's printed, advertising for a roommate and waves it at Ellen. "Go ahead," she says without looking.

Dean smiles at her, tapes it to the advertising wall and gets behind the bar. He's wiping the counter, soaping it when he notices a small group sitting at a far table. He squints, thinking he recognises the faces. There are two redheaded women and a man seated there, all involved in deep conversation and Dean wonders for a while why the dude looks so familiar.

That's when the man looks up, eyes meeting with Dean's.

And Dean knows. He can recognise those eyes anywhere. He'd dreamt about them for days after he had sighed out AMA after his admission into the hospital so he could go to the burn centre for Sam. They'd received news about their mother that night and it had been so bad… so bad…

Dean squeezes his eyes shut, rhythmically running his hands over the bar with the rag and trying to forget. He needs to pick Sam up, grab dinner, clean—

"Excuse me."

The voice is gravelly and so, so familiar. Dean bites his lip, looking up at the doctor who had received him at the ER on that fateful day. The man has seated himself upon one of the barstools and he looks earnest and tired.

"Hey, doc," Dean replies in a low voice.

"Hello," replies the other man. "I'm Dr Cas Novak. I believe I…" his eyes swivel over to Dean's arms, and Dean consciously tries to hide the burn scars.

"You name is Dean. I remember you," Cas tells him.

"Me too, kinda," Dean replies, trying not to be creeped out by the dude's weirdly awesome memory. "Though that night's a mess-and-a-half in my head."

"That's understandable."

Dean clears his throat. "So, what can I get you?"

"Just a Coke."

"Graveyard shift, huh?" Dean grins at him, reaching for the fridge so he can get out a can.

"I just finished work but I don't drink," Cas replies. "I lost the habit when it proved difficult to concentrate on studying and covering my shifts properly."

"Whatever floats your boat, dude." Dean empties the drink into a glass full of ice, wedges a lemon, throws in a straw, and slides it across. On the rocks."

Cas takes his drink and hesitates, makes to get up, but gets a sip of his Coke instead, eyes fixed on something behind Dean's shoulder. Dean picks up a few empty glasses, dumps them at the sink, and raises his eyebrow at Cas. "Something else you need?"

"You're looking for a roommate," Cas tells him, and Dean turns to notice the advertisement he'd just taped there.

He shrugs. "Too many bills."

Cas fixes his gaze on Dean again. "I can be your roommate."

Dean blinks, tries to look away, but can't. "O-Okay," he says at long last, "but I have a brother. It's gonna be three of us. I'll share with Sam, though, and you can have a room to yourself."

"That is not a problem," Cas tells him. "I've been looking for a roommate for a while too. Have you had many applicants?"

"No, you're the first."

"All right. Whenever it's convenient for you, I would like to drop by to have a look at the apartment too."

Dean scratches the back of his neck. "Cool, then. I need you to meet Sam too, since—he, uh, I need to interview you."

"Let me know when that is possible."

"Tomorrow's cool," says Dean. "We'll talk about rent and stuff. You can have a look at your room too."

"Yes, that is convenient."

There is brief silence, and Dean finds himself smiling wryly. "Thanks, Cas."

"For what?"

"We just really need a roommate. The money and stuff—you know." He doesn't know why he's saying all of this to the doc, but then he also feels like he's known the dude for ages now. He really needs to stop talking, though.

Cas's lips pull upwards. "I understand, Dean. After all, being a medical student also means complimentary loans for me."

Dean laughs at that, leaning against the bar, and Cas bows his head slightly before standing up. "I should get back to my table," he says. "My friends are waiting."

"Go on." Dean gives him a thumbs-up. "You got my number?"

"I'll take it off the board while I leave."

"Awesome."

"I'll see you later then, Dean."

Dean's smile widens some more, if possible. "Sure."

**~o~**

Sam's taking longer than he expected at the library so he asks Dean to go straight back home and says he'll bring dinner with him. Dean gets home, switches on the TV to Dr Sexy and lounges against the couch, occasionally checking his wrist watch and wondering how much longer Sam will take. Kid said he'd bring food, though, so not too long, he guesses.

He drifts off somewhere in the middle of one of Dr Piccolo's rambling speeches and the next thing he knows, his brother's large paws are on his shoulders, shaking him awake.

"G'way," Dean moans, burying his face deeper into the cushions.

"Bed, Dean."

"Nooo."

Sam shakes him again, sighs, and the next moment, Dean feels the soft, heavenly blanket on him. He smiles and mumbles something even he can't understand.

Sam tucks in the ends for Dean, and Dean can hear him chuckling.

"You're welcome, Dean. Sleep well."

Yeah, they might not get along sometimes, but then at the end of the day, Dean wouldn't trade his brother for anything, he thinks, getting back into the warm world that's his sleep, dreaming of being on a date with Dr Sexy, who's offering to be his new roommate too.

 


	3. Phone Call

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will be slowly mixing in character backgrounds as we get further into the plot instead of doing it all at once so you will get to know everyone more and more as we progress. I know it's a little slow rn but the crap will officially hit the fan next chapter. 
> 
> Thank you to my amazing girl Naila/iamremy for the beta, and to my other amazing girl, Sanj/SPNxBookworm for the cheerleading.

****  


 

Sam groans at the list of assignments on his email as he leans back on his chair to stretch. He doubts he can even make a dent on this over the weekend, but then, it's either a couple of all-nighters or bad grades and 'incompletes' on his coursework and that's the last thing he needs.

So far he'd been keeping up, though, steady As, and he finds that college does help take his mind off things.

Things that aren't Jess, obviously.

Not that he's doing better by all that much. Getting out of their claustrophobic home and being in school makes Sam temporarily forget the constant, suffocating anxiety and mood swings and frustration but it's not like these things don't bite Sam's ass with a vengeance even while he's outside. Dean's had to drive Sam back home midday on three occasions by now due to Sam's panicked calls, and it's barely been three weeks since school started. On some days, Dean has to coax Sam to get his ass off bed to school and on days like this, Sam's just spent most classes staring blankly at his notes. He can't miss classes, he knows, because that won't do any good to him and on some days that just sucks.

Sam's still not spoken to his friends. He's not ready to. He can feel his heartbeat rising every time they are in plain view and he tries to escape, tries to avoid them. Every day, once he's out of class he shoves his stubbed palm into his pocket, pulls up his hoodie while he has to get around the campus. This is to avoid being recognised as Jess's boyfriend or Agent Winchester's son or whoever people know him as because after the first day, it became apparent that quite a few students  _did_  know him, and were talking about him.

He's not ready for new people or questions, or much of anything, honestly, except Ruby, who seems to keep him calm for some reason. The only people he can really interact with, without apparently falling to pieces are her and the others like Dean, Ellen and Jo. Cas moved in ten days ago and he's been kind and sensitive in his interaction with Sam all along but it's only been a couple of days that Sam's been able to talk to him too.

Sam hears a sound from his bedroom and shuts his laptop, tucking it under his arm as he moves over to look for his backpack. Out of the corner of his eye he watches Dean stagger into the room, hair sticking up at all angles. He makes a beeline for the coffee, fills his cup, and grumbles as he seats himself at the dining table. "Get your shit out of here, Sam."

"Give me a minute," Sam replies.

" _Now_."

Sam winces. He'd been expecting this all morning, but it still doesn't feel nice when Dean actually lives up to these potentials. He takes a deep breath and remembers the date. It's been—

"Four years," Dean mutters, rubbing his eyes. He finishes the coffee and Sam waits for him to get up before clearing out the table. "Do you even care?" Dean asks him over running water in the sink.

Sam clenches his jaw, feels a little jolt of pain in his right hand. He takes another deep breath. He will not fight Dean over this. It's never a good place where their fights lead them to. Plus this is not good for the pain. Stress and emotions make it worse, and—

"You just wanted to run away, who am I even kidding?" Dean's voice is remorseful. Sam doesn't even look at him as he continues to stuff his bag. Dean was stinking drunk last night and today isn't going to be a good day at all.

"I mean," Dean continues, and Sam's glad Cas isn't back from his shift to see this, "I was the loser. You, Mom, Dad—all a bunch of smart cookies who did more than just fix cars, right?"

"That's not true," Sam tells him before he can stop himself. He turns around to face his dejected brother, knowing the hangover needs to wear off to take Dean's temper with it but for now Sam needs to deal with this. "Dean, you know that's not why I left. I got a full ride here, man."

"And you could have listened to the old man," says Dean. "He never said you can't go to college. He just wanted you close by and safe."

Sam snorts. "He was paranoid about our safety."

"Whatever," says Dean. "Ya happy, that the last bit of father-son quality time you spent with him was fighting and arguing and walking out?"

"I didn't—"

"He died the next morning, Sam," whispers Dean, eyes shining. "He had a fucking stroke and guess why strokes happen:  _stress_!"

Sam feels his jaw drop. "Are you saying this was  _my_  fault?"

"You fucking walked out on Mom too," Dean continues without directly replying to Sam, and Sam's heart drops into his stomach when he realises what this means. "She needed someone and it was too soon after Dad's death."

"And you were there for her!"

"If she wanted just one kid, Sam, she'd never have had you."

"What?!"

"You meant as much to her as I did, you asshole! You should have been there," Dean clarifies with a snarl. "She missed you, wanted you with her and you never even came home. Never sent a proper thank-you for all her care packages."

"That's because Dad told me to stay gone if I left." Sam's voice is breaking just like his heart, and he cannot believe Dean is acting like this.

"Dad was dead before you left. So thanks for being the ever-obedient son." Dean takes a deep breath and fixes his eyes on Sam. "Don't you regret it?"

"What?"

"That you never got to see Mom before she died too?"

Sam swallows, pushes down the lump in his throat. "Screw you."

"This is on you," Dean continues. "Mom took up that undercover job because she needed to think of other stuff a while."

Sam rolls his eyes. "You really think that's what the FBI is like? They put the cases out for the agent like an all-you-can-eat buffet to choose from?"

"No, but we know Bobby," says Dean, "and Bobby gave it to her because it was difficult and dangerous and she loved that crap even if it got you, me and Dad shit worried." He pauses. "You shouldn't have gone. Dad was right about the safety issue too."

Sam doesn't know whether he's angry at Dean or guilty about their mother. Maybe he's both. He knows he should have maintained better contact but all these years went by with so much resentment in him and so much culpability about Dad, he didn't think his family would want to see his face again. He can't regret his decision; can't call this a mistake because otherwise he'd have never gotten to know Jess, but he wishes things wouldn't have been so bitter.

He looks up at Dean who's staring at something outside of the window. Sam licks his lip, takes a seat next to his brother. "Mom's last job was close to where she lived, Dean," he says softly, "and they still got her." He swallows. "Sometimes… you just can't stop what you've got coming for you, you know?"

"She was Mom," Dean insists. "She was badass, Sammy."

"I know. But she was human too." Sam's chest tightens as he remembers their mother with her lavender and vanilla smell baking them pies, and loading her gun before getting to work a while later. She'd been indestructible; so strong and yet so gentle.

"I miss her, man." Dean's voice is low; barely audible. "Dad too."

Sam clears his throat, swallows down the growing lump. "Me too." He takes in a breath and hopes Dean didn't hear it shudder. "Dean, you know, like I said, sometimes this shit is just destiny, man. Sometimes it doesn't matter how good or bad you are. It's just fate and luck… and all that."

Dean's eyes rove over to meet Sam's again, and Sam knows that the truce has been made. "You really think so?" his brother asks him softly.

"Yeah."

He shrugs. "Then I guess you just gotta fight as long as you can. Like Mom did."

Sam nods. "Yeah, like Mom did."

Dean leans back against his chair, smiles. "You remember when Dad burned the pasta and Mom was so, so pissed…?"

**~o~**

Cas's slumped shoulders when he enters the apartment after his shift draw Dean's immediate attention. It's not like Cas is like this a lot—he's usually just tired and frustrated when he's working nights but today, Dean knows what Cas's posture stands for. He stops sorting through the news to see if Cas needs something and hopes he can help.

Dean has known Cas just three weeks now but damn if the dude doesn't have his tells. He's an open book. Dean can guess Cas's mood by just taking a look at his eyes. They sparkle and seem lighter when he's happy, a blazing electric blue when he's annoyed and downturned, stormy when he's sad. And there's everything in between, surprise, disappointment, tiredness, hope, amusement, and so, so many things. Yep, dude's definitely an open book.

He's easier to understand than Sammy anyway. Although, Dean thinks he can pen a whole novel titled  _Hundred-and-One Ways in Which I Can Read Sammy Better Than You_ while simultaneously flipping the bird to the rest of the world, because screw everyone, no one fucking knows Sam as well as he does. He is a fucking doctorate in  _Sammy_ , that's what he is, although the kid won't agree with him.

 _You don't understand_ , Sam whines and whines but Dean entirely does. One for Dean. Sammy sucks.

Now with Cas in the mix Dean thinks he'd make a classy psychologist. He can read complicated assholes like no one's business.

Presently Dean puts the kettle to boil as Cas shrugs out of his trenchcoat and goes over to dig out the pie that he and Cas had baked together yesterday. Cas is always enthusiastic to help and do his part of the chores, but he's the worst cook ever. Worse than Sam, and that's saying something. Dean honestly doesn't know where Sam got his terrible cooking genes from. Mom and Dad were both fabulous in the kitchen and Sam and Dean grew up spoiled.

Cas silently seats himself at the table and buries his face in his hands. Dean watches him as the kettle starts to steam, draws out Cas's mug (the thing has angel wings on it which is fucked-up to serious levels). Dean drops a teabag into the cup, smirking at how Sam and Cas geek out over green tea and Oolong and Earl Grey and whatever-the-fuck but drink coffee anyway. They both take tea as a way of de-stressing and Dean wonders how they can stand the stuff.

He scoops some pie into a plate, takes the cup, and puts it before Cas, who raises his head from his arms. "Thanks." His voice is barely a murmur.

Dean picks up his newspaper again. "You good?"

Cas shrugs. "In the sense of the word, yes. I am good. I happen to be a privileged man."

 _"_ _Dude."_

Blue eyes meet Dean's. Stormy. Deeper blue than even that.  _Shit_.

Dean sighs. "A nap always helps, ya know. You're just tired."

Cas sips at his tea like he can't taste it at all. He rubs at his eye. "We lost a four-year-old today."

"Shit. How come?" Dean usually doesn't care about the millions of old people and drunks that Cas loses at the ER but kids are a whole other thing. No kid deserves to die so fuck this.

"Head trauma," Cas replies. "He fell down at the park a few days ago and complained of pain for a while. But he was playing again so his parents didn't think it was that big of a problem. Last night he collapsed. He had considerable brain swelling and haemorrhage, along with an uncal herniation."

"I don't know what half that shit means, but that sounds bad," Dean agrees. "Parents ok?"

"Of course not, Dean," Cas replies while forking some pie into his mouth. "We spent a long time consoling them."

"I get it, dude." Dean hesitates, and then reaches to pat Cas's shoulder. "I'm sorry. Really."

"I appreciate it," Cas replies. He looks down at his pie, nodding, as though he's agreeing with a thought he just had, before glancing at Dean again. "Are you not going to work today?"

Dean shrugs. "Called in sick."

"Why?"

"Never mind."

Cas doesn't question him further, but gets up from his place as he takes his empty cup and plate to the sink. "I'm sorry it's a bad day for you too, Dean. Let me know how I can help."

Dean smiles at his roommate even though he knows Cas can't see him. "I'll be fine, Cas. Thanks."

"You're welcome," comes the prompt reply and Dean chuckles to himself before heading for a long shower so he can navigate himself back to bed and forget all about Dad today.

**~o~**

"Oh no…"

"What?" Ruby raises a thin eyebrow at Sam who's ducking under his hoodie again. They're at the cafeteria and a couple of kids have been staring at Sam for a whole minute now. He can feel his pulse rate increase and he really, really wishes they weren't talking about him but—

"Oh, come on, Sam, if they talk they talk."

Ruby's voice is gentle, and Sam's thoughts snap away as he notices her. She pops a couple of French fries into her mouth. "I'm sorry, but you've gotta get used to it."

I can't," Sam grits his teeth trying to keep calm but his body failing at it. "I…  _why_?"

"Why do they talk? Why do you get so nervous? Why you're so fucking co-dependent, you and your brother?"

Sam's pulse rate rises for a different reason now. "Shut up, Ruby."

She crosses her arms and looks away. Sam bows his head some more as the kids approach their table, barely catching his breath and his gaze goes over to Ruby only to find a flash of silver glinting from underneath her collar. An all-too familiar flash…

He bites his lip and manages to catch her eyes. "Where… where'd you serve?"

She's caught off guard by that but she composes herself. "Breathe first, Sam."

He straightens, grinding his forehead into his fist as he screws his eyes shut. He can feel a headache start to build up, and  _that's just fucking fantastic_ , he thinks.

"You done? You want me to hold your hand now?"

Ruby reminds him of Dean sometimes and those are the times he wonders what the fuck he's doing spending time with her at all. He opens an eye. "Where'd… you serve?"

Her eyes turn suddenly compassionate. "Look, relax, okay? I'll tell you. Breathe a little."

"I'm okay."

"Sure you are," she snorts. She seems to think for a moment after, before reaching underneath her collar and pulling out the dog tags. "Iraq," she says quietly. "Five years ago."

He squints at her. "How old are you?"

"Older than I look." Her mouth quirks up from one side. "Anyway, I lasted a while, and then they had to send me back."

"How come?"

"Took a bullet to my left shin. It got classified as critical injury." Her eyes avert to her feet and Sam follows her gaze as she lifts up her pant leg and suddenly, Sam is full of self-loathing about always hiding his hand from her.

She has a prosthetic leg. Ruby is an amputee too.

"It's okay," she says when she looks at the shock that must be written all over his face. "I know what's up with your hand too, and you don't have to be ashamed, Sam. We know what we've been through and we're damn good at what we do."

The lump in his throat from the morning is back as he nods. He gets his hand out and lays it on the table only for Ruby to reach ahead and pat the back of it. She smiles. "It takes special strength to face people with that, right? They're always looking. Always wondering why you hide it, or if you don't, how it got like that."

"Nothing compared to…" he trails away hoarsely while pointing at the general direction of her leg.

"Don't trivialise," she tells him. "It's not easy, what you've had to face. Troubles come in different shapes and sizes, Sam. Nothing's big or small and you can't blame yourself for not handling." Her eyes shine for a moment as she clears her throat. "So who d'you know that served?"

He sniffs and looks at his food. "Dad. He used to be in the Marines."

"And…?"

"He died four years ago—to this date."

She lets out a soft gasp. "I'm-I'm sorry, Sam."

"No, it's okay," he sighs. "Dean was closer to him, and…" he tongues the inside of his cheek. "I'm rethinking going to the library after class. Dean probably needs me."

"And if you feel like he does, that's a good decision."

He meets her gaze again and she smiles, before bringing up her hand to pat his palm again, twice this time. "And if we're done here, I'd kill for some more fries, so—" she jerks her head towards the counter as she drags her tray and stands up, Sam just watching her with a smile on his face.

As she leaves her leg knocks her bag over. "Crap," she says, pausing and turning. Sam holds his hand up to her.

"I got it. Go get your fries."

She smiles. "Thanks."

When Sam bends over to lift the bag he is stopped in his tracks as something else falls into the floor. Something extremely familiar. Making sure she's not looking, Sam picks up the badge and opens it.

"Special Agent Ruby Martin," he whispers to himself when he looks at her credentials. That's when he realises exactly why she's here with him, and that her sitting next to him on the first day was anything but a coincidence. He's got to give it to his Mom's old workplace, though. They're sneaky.

Deciding not to ask Ruby about this Sam replaces her stuff and settles back in his place with a million questions running through his head with no answers at all.

**~o~**

_"_ _Sam?"_

 _"_ _Hey, Mom."_

 _"_ _S-Sam, is Dean around?"_

"Sam, you with me?"

Ruby's whispering voice reaches Sam's ear and he flinches as he turns to glare at her. "What?"

"Pay attention."

"I am."

"Really?"

Sam huffs at Ruby and turns to his laptop, pretending to look at the screen and poising his fingers over the keyboard so Ruby will stop with her crap. He doesn't know how he feels about her being FBI and that Bobby or whoever it is who put her up to this is actually concerned about his and Dean's safety. Well, either that, or the FBI thinks Sam and Dean have a hand in the murder of their mother.

Fucking paranoid bastards.

He bites his lip, tries to pay attention, once again to class but his mind keeps drifting in other directions.

 _"_ _Baby," a shaky exhale, "Give Dean the phone? Please?"_

 _"_ _Okay." Sam pauses. "Mom, is everything all right?"_

 _"_ _N-No."_

_Sam's heart leaps up his throat as he nods to Dean who is sitting on the couch behind him. He'd come straight to Dean's place after the fight with their dad last night and his nerves tingle as his brother comes up, still not talking to Sam (because Dean is pissed at him too and Sam should have realised and maybe Dean's not on Sam's side this time). Dean takes the phone from Sam._

_"_ _Hey, Mom, everything okay?"_

_Sam folds his arms around his chest trying to suppress the goosebumps, and— "What?! What happened to Dad?" Dean sounds frantic and Sam gets closer to try and listen but Dean holds up a hand asking him to stop._

_"_ _Okay," Dean says, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Okay… oh God… okay, Mom, just take a breather, I…_ _**how** _ _?"_

_There's a pause. "Uh-hunh, but he was okay yesterday?" Dean's eyes shoot towards Sam and back down and he's swallowing a lot. Sam doesn't like the look of that either._

_Then Dean takes in a shaky breath. "I'm coming, okay? You guys are in the ER? Okay, I—" he sniffs and Sam's heart leaps again when he sees tears in his brother's eyes. "Yeah, y-yeah, I'll get S-Sammy."_

_Sam swallows. "Dean…?"_

_Dean ignores him, mutters something into the phone, sounding suspiciously like an 'I love you' but Sam pretends to not have heard it. The receiver drops and Sam can feel Dean's gaze on him before he's even looking back at his brother._

_"_ _What happened?" he whispers, afraid to know the answer._

_Dean's eyes are still wet but a tear breaks free at Sam's question._

_"_ _It's Dad," he says, swiping his palm over his cheek. "He had a s-stroke." Dean's anguished eyes meet Sam as he whispers, "Sammy, Dad's gone."_

**~o~**

Dean wakes up with a full bladder, an empty stomach and a disoriented mind. He sits up in bed clutching his head which is throbbing now, brain pulsating against his skull vigorously. His stomach churns and Dean takes a deep breath, deciding he needs to put something into it. He gets out of bed, finishes his bathroom business and steps into the living room, only to smell something from the kitchen and notice Cas at the burner, stirring a pot of something.

Dean's stomach rumbles as he goes over to watch his roommate. "Hey, Cas."

Cas turns around, Dean's apron stained down the front with what looks like tomato puree. "Hello, Dean," he says, "I thought I should make spaghetti for lunch."

Oh well, that's the safest, Dean reckons, seeing the sauce comes off a jar and spaghetti off a packet. "Good," he says. "good, good."

Cas stirs the sauce some more, prods at the boiling pasta with a fork, and when he's satisfied he takes a chair at the dining table, Dean following. Dean grabs the flask they always keep there and holds it up to pour some water into his mouth. All the while he can feel Cas observing him and is almost about to tell him off when Cas speaks.

"Did you sleep well?"

Dean puts the flask down. "Kinda. You?"

"Fine."

Dean yawns, grinding the heel of his palm against his forehead. "Have a fuckin' headache, though."

"Do you want something for it? I can recommend you several medications."

"Nah, it'll pass."

There's a pause and Dean takes in a deep breath, trying to manage the nauseating pain and slightly regretting the water he just drank. He hears Cas's chair drag back as he goes to check on his meal and then he is back sitting beside Dean, and Dean can say he's hesitating to ask him something.

He clears his throat. "Go on, Cas."

"No, I just—"

"What?"

"You don't look like you're doing very well today."

Dean lifts his head up and ignores the pain that smarts across his eyes. "Ya think?"

"Not the headache," Cas clarifies. "But you were drunk last night and you didn't go to work. You seem upset."

"It's called a hangover, Dr Sexy."

"I know, that," Cas insists. "Plus Dr Sexy is medically inaccurate. And inappropriate." He stops there and hesitates, turning to look at his hands briefly before his eyes meet with Dean's blue and green staring into each other. "Dean, I know you've known me a very short time, and that you probably prefer Sam's company for this… but if you need to talk about something…"

Dean grabs the flask of water again as he shakes his head. "I'm good."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah."

"Okay. I believe you." Cas gets up to stir the sauce and Dean watches him, feeling suddenly lonely as an overwhelming urge pushes at the back of his throat. He blinks as his breath shudders. No. There's no fucking way he's talking to Cas about this shit.

His reverie beaks when Cas's phone starts to vibrate and Dean paws it forward. "Cas."

"Yes?" Cas takes his phone and looks at the screen and although Dean wonders if it's the trick of the light, he's pretty sure his roommate just turned pale. He swallows audibly. "I have to answer this, Dean," he says, "please give me a minute."

"Yeah, yeah, of course."

And Cas is running to his room like his ass is on fire. If Dean's head weren't so fucked-up today, he's pretty sure he'd have laughed at it.

**~o~**

_"_ _Are you doing what we asked you to?"_

The gruff voice prickles at Ruby's ear as she holds her phone close, looking around to make sure no one's watching her. She has an eye on Sam though, and he's sitting at the lawn bench where she left him. She's least worried about him moving from there.

 _"_ _Agent,"_  the voice calls at her from the other line.

She clears her throat. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm keeping an eye on him, okay?"

 _"_ _And he doesn't suspect?"_

She almost snorts. "No. He's pretty thick that way. It's kinda hard to believe he's Agent Winchester's son if you ask me."

 _"_ _Just keep it going."_

She grins. "Won't disappoint you."

The line is cut the moment she stops talking and she pockets her phone, checking around her again before making her way back to Sam.

**~o~**

Cas's heart is beating madly in his chest as he locks himself in his room, putting the receiver in his ear and dreading what he's going to hear. "H-Hello?"

 _"_ _Well, hello, little brother. Long time, no see. Who you hiding from?"_

Cas clenches his jaw. "What do you want?"

 _"_ _Oh, nothing. I heard about your new living arrangements. Just curious."_

"It's not of import."

 _"_ _Aw, come on, don't be like that. I mean, have you even told them about me?"_

"Why should I?" Cas retorts. "You are the reason my whole life is in a mess. You rebelled and I got punished for it too."

 _"_ _Oh, come on, you still got that grudge against me? You know there's worse out there, right? Like—"_

"I do not need your justification for why exactly you're not the problem," Cas replies, interrupting. "And please stop calling me."

There's a sigh. _"Cas. Just join me for drinks this weekend."_

"No."

 _"_ _Fine. It's your funeral."_ The phone disconnects without a goodbye or a greeting and Cas heaves out a sigh of relief as he tosses his phone onto his bed and wipes the sweat off his brow. He stands in front of the mirror a minute, dabbing at his face and not moving out to Dean until he's sure he looks completely normal. He doesn't want anyone being concerned over this. He doesn't deserve that.

When he gets out, though, Dean has this faraway expression on his face, eyes showing heartbreak in a way Cas has never seen before and he forgets about all his troubles before the man who sits at the dining table in front of him—the man who is fast becoming a good friend to Cas now.

And it's been just three weeks since they've been friends and ten days since they've been roommates. However, it's been a whole eternity since Cas saw this many things in Dean's eyes all at once and he'll never forget the beginning of it all.


	4. Then and Now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Sorry I took a while. I have exams in a few days and it's reeeaaaaally stressful.
> 
> I wasn't sure I should post this at first but then I thought tonight, that maybe I should because we all do need to be aware. This chapter is where the terrorism sub-plot starts to get bigger. And this goes without saying: my prayers are with everyone whose country is suffering terrorist activity, earthquakes, floods, or any kind of difficulty altogether right now. 
> 
> This chapter also contains graphic descriptions of a panic attack, so please tread carefully. I will focus a lot on mental health issues in this fic, amongst other things.
> 
> I have co-authored a DCBB fic, "And He Wished Upon a Star" and it can be found on my profile if you're interested!
> 
> Many thanks to my sweethearts, **Naila/iamremy** and **Sanj/SPNXBookworm** for the beta and support, respectively.

****   


 

When Sam first met Cas he had thought the weird awkwardness was a purposeful act put on by the man. Dean knew Cas better… kind-of, and Sam has trouble with new people now (except Ruby, which he doesn't understand but maybe it's because of some vibe they share, having a thing or two in common). But Cas is a good roommate, Sam thinks, because he's unimposing, gives everyone their privacy, helps plenty and stays to himself when he has to. But yes. Sam has trouble now. With new people.

For Sam there's a  _then_  and a  _now_. There wasn't before and he wonders how many people have thens and nows in their lives. How many people change so much, they can feel it inside them, that they don't fit in anymore, and aren't… aren't  _right_?

He remembers his visits to the doctor. The therapist, Dr Harris. He was kind, pretty formal but  _kind_ , with his glasses and his patience. He was even patient with Dean during family therapy. Sam doesn't remember why he stopped going. But Harris assured Sam that he's normal, just like anyone else. He said Sam was in pain and that's maybe—yeah, that's why there's a then and a now. But… but Sam knows he's all  _off_. Like something inside him has short-circuited and switched off and he's just broken equipment that no one wants. And how is that normal? Is it supposed to hurt  _so much_?

 _Then_  was when he functioned by himself without falling to pieces at the drop of a hat. When he loved making friends. When he maintained constant contact with the people he'd grown up with at Houston despite all the family animosity. When he'd have grinned at Cas and shook hands with him the first time they met. When he didn't really give two hoots about what people thought of him and everything he did. When he didn't have fucking panic attacks in bathrooms and then those awful nightmares for which he needed his brother. When he wasn't a burden on any of his family or anyone else and was living his life.

 _Now_  his hands shake when he so much as tries to e-mail his friends from Houston. Or talk to Rebecca and Zach and Brady and Freya. There are drafts upon drafts saved up from half-written e-mails, texts that remain unsent and phone calls that have been ignored because Sam  _can't do it_. He can't hear more sympathy, can't feel worse, doesn't want more people around.  _Now_  he's damaged goods that no one wants to handle.  _Now_  is when he just hid his hand in his pocket the first time he met Cas (and that was stupid because Cas had already known then. He was the one who'd received Sam and Dean in the hospital. He's a doctor and this isn't even new to him. But he's not spoken about it—Sam doesn't know… what does Cas think anyway?)

 _Now_  is when his mind bothers him about what people think.

Only Dean understands him (somewhat), although what a fucking irony that they fight all the time.

"Your head is lying to you, Sam," Dean says. "Don't you remember what Harris said to you?"

No, no. Sam doesn't. Did something happen?

Dean doesn't even try to remind him after that.

 _Dean_. Oh. Sam watches Ruby talk into her phone for a moment and pulls out his own to see if Dean's called (for what?)

He hasn't. Sam runs a tongue over the corner of his mouth. Dean was pissed. Pissed at Sam. Maybe – maybe he should…

He suddenly hears footsteps and looks up to see Ruby heading towards him. She looks thoughtful, almost angry, and Sam's heart misses a beat. Does she know? He swallows, thinking up excuses when Ruby's gaze meets his and suddenly the frown is a smile. His heart slows down a little though he's still shaking.

He's safe.

Why is he still shaking?

So maybe today's not such a nice day for Sam.

Okay.  _Really_ , today is the  _worst_. Who is Sam even kidding? He's been on edge since morning. He can't stop his heart and from racing, his breaths from alternating in that weird way. He can't stop trembling. He just—he hopes he can get back home before this thing peaks. Dean is there.  _Dean will be there._

Will he?

It hasn't been this bad in… well, it wasn't this bad on his first day back. And he was even handling it. He had managed to stop the panic attack that had been coming on at the cafeteria.

… And then he found out Ruby's been lying to him too.

Dean says that Sam can rely on a few trustworthy people in his life, and to identify them, because Sam has trouble talking to people and he needs Dean to help him trust. And then Ruby. Before befriending Ruby he didn't consult Dean and  _really_?

Dean has a  _then_  and  _now_  too, Sam remembers as he watches Ruby, pocketing his phone when she sits beside him.  _Then_  was before Dean had to clean up Sam's messes.  _Now_  Dean's living a life according to Sam's needs because of all of Sam's  _thens_  and  _nows_.

And why hasn't Dean left already?

_Dad died four years ago today._

"Did you call him?" Ruby cuts through Sam's thoughts as she pulls her hair into a bun, leaning a little away from him.

Sam shakes his head. "He hasn't called. He's okay. So—"

"Are  _you_  okay?"

"I… what?" Sam looks at Ruby's raised eyebrow and opens and shuts his palm, thinking about Dean. He must be having a rough day. Sam's good… at least in comparison.  _(Not really)._

"Yeah," he says. "Yeah." His left eyelid blinks, a nervous tic he's acquired in the last five months that seems to hit on the nastiest days.

_Nasty day alert._

Okay so maybe this  _is_  heading towards being one of his worst days because Ruby is fucking FBI, Dean is fucking pissed and Dad died four years ago. His chest sears with pain and he holds in a gasp because  _no. Not now._

"Sam, just call him," Ruby sighs, voice sounding faraway. "Just…"

"Yeah," he whispers and his hand shivers as he thinks about how Dean's going to react if he's sleeping or, or—

"Sam." Ruby's hand is on his shoulder. He flinches but turns to her, and she looks worried. "You need to go home," she says sympathetically. "You've not been very good since the morning, have you?"

"I'm good." His eye blinks again and Ruby is staring right at him. He thinks this might have given it away. Dammit.

"You know your health is more important than class, right?" she says. "I'll get you the notes."

"N-No, I…"

"Even if you're stubborn enough to stay, at least call Dean. You will feel better, Sam, and you know it," she says, ever-patient. She is not a patient girl and he knows it. But now she is. As though he's a frightened animal, or…

Fuck her, he's  _not_.

"Okay," says Ruby. "Break's getting over then. Let's go back to class. You have Political Science, don't you?"

Something hurts, deep in Sam's chest and he stares at his phone, fingers lingering over speed dial. "I'll… I wanna call him."

"Good." Ruby sounds relieved as she begins to search her bag for something.

Sam fingers Dean's name and presses  _call_. The phone rings, and Sam waits, waits and waits, but Dean doesn't reply. He tries not to be dejected as he pockets the handset, though. His chest really hurts and his hand joins in the mix. Little bursts of pain shoot up his stubs where his fingers were, and he just prays for it all to stop.  _Please, please. I don't have the strength to deal with this today._

He stands up. "Come on, Dean's not answering."

"Why?"

"Probably asleep or in some other room."  _He's not having a good day either. He's not pissed. He's not pissed. Notpissed._

"He's not at work?"

Dean never said he wasn't going to work today but Sam  _knows_.

"No," he says. "Dean's not at work." He slings his bag over his shoulder, runs a palm over his chest to feel better. He knows it won't help.

"I'll see you in English."

**~o~**

Cas doesn't know what happened between the phone call and now to put all of that profound sadness on Dean's face. Dean's running his hands through his hair, messing it up and blinking repeatedly. It's not like Cas doesn't know that something's not right with Dean today (and quite possibly Sam too) because Dean has revealed as much. He does wish, however, that he could help.

He takes another step forward and Dean seems to realise this as he straightens up.

"Your spaghetti's done," Dean says, nodding towards the stove. "I turned it off."

"Thank you." Cas hesitates. "Dean, is anything the matter?"

"I'm good." Dean clears his throat. "You didn't make any for Sammy, right? He's already eaten at the cafeteria."

"He told you that?"

"It's past his lunchtime."

"Oh." Cas moves forward. "Then let's get on with lunch. Sam can have his portion of it if he's interested later today. I'm on call tomorrow and I would like to finish lunch and sleep some more."

Dean sniggers. "Hasn't anyone told you, Dr Sexy, that you're not supposed to lay down right after eating?" He gets off his chair and extracts two plates and forks as Cas puts the spaghetti in a serving bowl and digs inside the fridge for orange juice.

"I want a beer," Dean says from behind him.

Cas pours two glasses of orange juice and hands one to Dean.

Dean scrunches his face up. "Spaghetti and OJ? What is this,  _Kitchen Nightmares_?""

"Is that another show?"

"You have no idea, do you," Dean sighs. "I get all my vitamins just fine, you know."

Cas serves spaghetti to his roommate and drops some into his own plate. "Dean, you have to care for yourself more than that. Alcohol is not a cure for a hangover."

"Says who?"

Cas tries not to roll his eyes. "Don't be difficult."

"Sure, Dr—"

"Do not call me that," Cas mutters.

"Why not?" Dean quips. "You're a doc and you're sexy."

Brief silence follows, warmth rushing up Cas's cheeks at unbelievable pace. Beside him, Dean's fork clinks against his plate as he slurps noodles loudly. He swallows, and Cas can hear all of it as he uses his fork to cut up the pasta into little pieces.

"Relax, dude," Dean says at long last. "It's just a joke. I'll call you only and only  _Cas_  from now on. That okay?"

Cas gulps, looks up into slightly amused green eyes. "Yes."

"Good."

And that seems to be the last of it because Dean doesn't talk again. His face grows morose as he looks back at his food, taking sips of his juice, seemingly pondering about something. Cas finds the concern returning with a vengeance because, yes, he knows about his roommates—that Sam and Dean have been through a whole lot (and they've never actually told him, but he can surmise from their fights, from Sam's crippling anxiety and Dean's protectiveness of his brother, from the fact that they don't have money because of medical bills, from how close they are, that the last five months, ever since he met them, have been rougher than he can imagine).

He sets his fork down. "Dean."

"Mmmm?" Dean sounds lazy, but Cas knows he's just lost in thoughts.

"I know you prefer sharing your thoughts with your brother but is anything bothering you?"

"Fuck off."

"Sorry."

Cas decides not to take it to heart while he finishes the last of his food. He's up from the table before Dean, running water over his plate when he hears something from behind him.

"C-Cas?"

Cas drops the plate into the sink before turning around. Dean's eyes look bright, and Cas tries to not let the intense sadness in there get to him as he replies. "Yes?"

"It's… it's my dad. H-He died four years ago today?"

Cas comes back to sit down. No, this he did not expect. His heart breaks a little for his roommate. "Oh, Dean, I am so sorry."

Dean traces circles over the table top with his fingers, eyes blinking in increasing frequency. "It's j-just…" he shrugs. "Fuck. I'm – I'm sorry. I—"

"Do not apologise, Dean," says Cas. "You can talk to me."

Dean nods, and his voice is a whisper when he speaks again. "I guess I just miss him." He shuts his eyes, and on instinct Cas raises his hand to squeeze Dean's shoulder tightly. The muscles are taut beneath his grip, stressed and tense, and he can imagine why. Dean stares past him, at the window behind Cas. "I mean, I thought he was pretty much indestructible, you know."

"I know, Dean, I understand."

"And…" Dean purses his lips. "I kinda just wish Sammy could feel better. I mean, I don't even help him—I make shit worse and he was having a bad day before he left…"

"You care for Sam, Dean," Cas tells him. "In the few days I've been in this apartment, that's the one thing I've noticed best. He looks to you for support."

"And then I spew shit and he thinks I hate him," Dean scoffs.

"No, that is not—"

"I don't hate him," Dean says. "It's in his head. Everything he's dealing with—the doc told me, you know, that he needs reminding once in a while that his own brain lies to him."

"He suffers with tremendous anxiety," Cas remarks. It is not a question.

"And a bunch of other stuff," Dean admits. "He's not on meds anymore, but…"

"If he's still suffering, Dean, you should consider going back to the therapist and getting his medication refilled."

"No, I… I can't take him—" Dean licks his lip and looks back at Cas. "You know what, I'll tell you some other day. It's just… Sammy's situation is kinda complicated."

"I understand."

Dean smiles at him. "Sorry, man, and thanks."

"There is no need to thank me," Cas tells him. "You are my friend now, and I would like to help you too."

"Still," Dean replies as he gets his own plate into the sink. "Thanks."

It's Cas's turn to smile now. "You're welcome, Dean.

**~o~**

_The Impala's tyres screech as Dean pulls up outside of the hospital. Sam lurches forward on his seat, stops himself with a hand on the dash and throws the door open before jumping out. Dean drives away to park and Sam's sprinting into the hospital before he knows it, heart thumping at terrible speeds against his rib cage._

_The ER is a flurry of activity with bleeping and whooshing and people talking in hushed voices and doctors and nurses and Sam spots_ her _, his mother, sitting near a bed and… oh God._

_Her eyes are bloodshot and she stands up when he approaches her, warm arms grabbing him in a hug at once. He tilts his head, a sick feeling rising up his gut to see his dad lying on the bed beside him, stark and pale and…_

_Dead._

_There's a sound of scuffing of shoes against linoleum. They stop as Mary pulls away from Sam and before Sam can look back, he hears a shriek._

_"_ _Dean!"_

_Sam turns, only to see his brother swaying, threatening to fall. On instinct Sam and his mother are grabbing Dean's arm, Sam's heart still thumping._

"That will be all for today…"

_Dad is dead._

"… will be expecting your assignments…"

_Dad is dead._

"… check…"

_Dad is dead._

The professor leaves the hall and Sam stands up on quaking legs as he digs his pocket for his phone again. Dean's reaction when their dad died had scared him. He'd never thought his brother could ever get emotional enough to warrant that kind of a response because, no, Dean—Dean is strong. Yet, Sam never called him all these years. He'd mourned Dad by himself, and later, with Jess at his side as she made him cookies and gave him big hugs. Sam always trusted that Dean had Mom.

Today Dean's not doing well and there's no Mom. And Dean has—Dean's taken care of Sam so much and maybe he needs some support right now. Maybe Sam should go home.

Will Dean approve of it, though? What if he gets pissed?

_Don't fucking mother hen me, Sam, I'm not like you._

_If you were so concerned, how come you didn't call me or Mom all these years on Dad's death anniversary? How come you never came home?_

Sam dials his brother's number, hoping Dean will answer but he doesn't. His hands are quivering when he exits class.

_They get Dean to sit on Mary's chair before he can faceplant onto the floor. Sam stands there, watching his brother in shock and fear as Mary goes ahead to cup Dean's neck. She connects her forehead to his temple and he leans into her touch while she whispers platitudes to him. Dean's swallowing and nodding, blinking back tears, and Sam feels like an intruder in his own family._

_He senses his brother's eyes searching for him (he doesn't know how, but he and Dean have always known each other better than anyone else). Dean looks sad and a little betrayed as Sam kneels beside him. "Hey. You feeling better?" he asks, patting Dean's shoulder._

_Dean bites at his lip a while, lets out a shaky exhale, and then talks. "What did Dad say to you last night?"_

Sam's chest hurts. He's in the bathroom, gripping at the sink, trying to pick himself up and just get the fuck to next class already. Ruby's there and he knows he'll feel better when he sees her. But is she really here to make him feel better? No, her mission is something else. She's FBI.

Why is she here?

_Today is the worst day ever._

He needs to talk to Dean about this.

If he could just get out of this fucking bathroom without falling apart…

_Dean won't pick up the phone._

**~o~**

Ruby runs a hand through her hair as she glances towards the door, looking for Sam. Students trickle into the class in twos and threes and then there's the occasional loner. Sam's one of those loners, as is Ruby, but she has her share of friends outside of this undercover job. She's never seen Sam with any, though, and the ones he had from before the death of his girlfriend bring in all his panic attacks.

Well, Ruby knows from unfortunate experience that those just suck.

She wonders why her SAC, Agent Mills, suspects these boys so badly. There's practically  _nothing_  to say that these two humdingers are killers. Like they'd be able to pull  _that_  off. Ruby knows what it's like to kill someone. To shoot a gun, to watch the little spatter of blood as bullet hits flesh… and then… the life draining out of the person's eyes…

Not her favourite part of the job, no.

Well, the SAC from Houston, Agent Singer, was the one who'd suggested protection for these boys so there's him calling to check that Ruby is doing her job. Of course she is doing her fucking job, isn't she, because Sam's not dead and he has no clue that he's being protected  _and_  watched by two warring agents.

Singer can't seem to believe that whoever killed Agent Winchester wouldn't harm Sam and Dean, and okay, he makes a little more sense than Mills, who can't seem to believe that Sam and Dean have no role in their mother's death, or any part to play in the terrorist organisation that their mother was investigating. Apparently, she was on the verge of exposing them too.

Ruby thinks that if Sam and Dean had wanted to kill Mary Winchester and Jessica Moore all at the same time, they'd not be doing it in a way that would bring them to this life of PTSD, panic attacks and being broke forever. And Sam's not even faking his panic attacks. Ruby can tell.

Of course, Sam's not the only one who's getting protection right now. Ruby knows who's in charge of monitoring Dean, and she can't say their job is easier. At least Sam's kinda sweet. Dean can be an ass. But all said and done, the Winchesters are innocent.

She lets her thoughts slide when she checks her watch, realising that Sam's not here yet. He's never late and if he is, she knows where he must be.

She sighs. She's really not up to being caught in the men's restroom again.

But, oh well, if that's how she's going to be able to help Sam, then so be it.

Ruby gets up from her place, swearing to herself that she's going to ask the agency for a long vacation after all this.

**~o~**

"Anna and her sister are coming over. Is that okay?"

Dean looks up from folding Sam's jeans as Cas enters the living room in a t-shirt and his boxers, hair dishevelled and eyes bloodshot from being woken up from his second nap. He looks like a tired mess, really, and Dean pities him.

He nods. "Why wouldn't I be cool with?"

"Because your father—"

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Dean hisses. "I'm all right, Cas. Now will you stop with the fucking coddling? It's awkward." He gathers his brother's folded clothes and makes his way into his and Sam's room to dump it on Sam's bed.

Cas comes over, leaning at Dean's doorway and Dean knows he's sorry. "I was just concerned," he says.

Dean clears his throat. "Well, thank you, but no thanks." He pats down his pocket for his phone, wondering why Sam hasn't yet called today. The kid never does that.

"You left your phone at the kitchen counter. It's been charging ever since I came back from work," Cas quips from behind Dean. Dean whirls around to face him.

"Seriously?!"

"Yes."

"Crap."  _Sammy called and didn't get me._  "Sam must be fucking panicking. Fuck." Dean rushes over to retrieve the handset and Cas follows him.

"How do you know?"

Dean pulls the charger off his phone, sees half a dozen missed calls, and swears. "I know that kid." He dials Sam's number and calls his brother, hoping that Sam's feeling all right. No, today's been a horrible day and he can bet it's not so great for Sammy either.

It takes only a ring for Sam to pick up. "D-Dean?" He sounds breathless.

Dean rests his palms on the kitchen counter. "You doing okay?"

A breath. "I—where are y-you?" Sam's speech is controlled, like he's trying to breathe in order; trying to pull himself together.

"I'm at home," Dean replies. "Left my phone to charge and forgot to take it to the room. You called?"

"Y-Yeah… just…" Sam let's out another breath. "I'm—I'm all right… I th-thought…"

"Hey, just take care of yourself, all right?" Dean interrupts him. "I'm good. And I should have called, I—"

"No, it's okay," Sam sounds a little relieved. "I'm—I'm good too, Dean. I-I'll see you i-in a couple of hours."

"Ruby with you?"

"For-for this class… yeah. I need to—we need to talk when I get home."

"Okay, kiddo. You look out for yourself, yeah?"

Sam chuckles. "Sure, Dean. I'll-I'll see you."

The call end on that note, and Dean shuts his eyes for a moment. When he opens them, Cas is standing across him, near the dining table. "Is he all right?"

"He's okay," Dean replies. "He's having a bad day, though." He checks his watch. "When are your friends getting here? I'll need to text Sam if they're staying 'cause you know…"  _he freaks out at new people._

"They won't be that long," says Cas, "and I think Sam will enjoy the company of Anna's sister."

"Dude, he's not ready to—"

"She's a lesbian." Cas crosses his arms. "You shouldn't  _assume_."

"Oh." Dean feels colour rush up his cheeks. "I guess I'm capable of assuming crap like that too, then." When Cas raises an eyebrow, he shrugs. "Someday, I'll tell you why."

"You're gay." Cas smiles lightly as he says it.

"Does it matter?"

"To me? I don't judge."

"Yeah, I'm gay. I don't tell people 'cause—"

"I understand," Cas says. "You're tired of bigots."

"Yeah, I guess," Dean looks into his eyes. "There are people who I think— I  _thought_  they wouldn't judge, and then they were the ones that judged first."

"It is quite harsh and wrong, that you have to hide a part of identity just because people can be that inhuman," Cas remarks. "I believe, Dean, that bigotry has consequences of its own."

Dean scratches the back of his neck. "I just ignore those assholes now," he says. "In the end, the people who were closest to me stuck with me. My family was cool. All of them. Not one question. I think Sammy even  _knew_  before I came out. Dad could be an ass sometimes, but that was just because he was stubborn and paranoid. He was a Marine, so I guess he was just wired that way. And he was cool too.

"I grew up in a family that was non-judgmental."

"As it should be."

There's silence as Dean fiddles with his phone. Cas clears his throat, straightening up. "I should get ready. My friends will be here soon."

"Oh." Dean glances at him, "cool."

Cas gives him a nod before exiting the room, leaving Dean feeling warm and much better than he had been a few minutes ago.

**~o~**

Dean called.

_Deancalleddeancalleddeancalled_

Sam huffs out a breath, shuts his eyes. Why the hell can't he stop shaking?

He's sitting on the floor beside the sink. The cold tile is uncomfortable to him but he can't stand, can't get up because his legs are trembling too much. His chest tightens, pain jarring him and threatening to knock him out of his senses. God, fuck,  _Imdyingimdyingimdying fuck ohfuckohgod…_

He can hear footsteps. His breaths huff in and out and he can't hold on to them. They're racing. Too quick for him to catch and like his heartbeat—

Too much.  _Too many._

He needs—he just called Dean, and…

 _Dean_.

His hand twinges in reply and he clenches his good fist, willing it to go away. Sometimes, exercising the good hand can…

The footsteps get louder. A drop of sweat falls down his forehead. The room spins, his stomach churning, and he grips the wall behind him, trying to get up.

Water. Water will make him feel better. He should…yeah.

He digs his bag for his bottle. He gets it out, thirsty, and his stomach sloshes warningly but his lips are dry his throat is dry and he's fucking dying. He's so hot. He needs water. So hot…

He manages to gulp down a few sips before the bottle slips from his grip, spilling its contents onto the floor.

He blinks, vision blurry, trying to collect himself but the tremors all over his body won't stop and why can't it stop,  _why won't it stop_? His hands are quaking so much. He is shivering. He doesn't know what to do… doesn't know…  _fuck_ …

He can't.  _Hecanthecanthecan't._  He can't stop. Breath after breath huffs out of him like he's run ten miles and he can't get on par with it. Black spots dance in his vision and he blinks, sweat dripping down his brow.

His hand is damp and the tiles are slippery. He gets up, stops himself from falling. The footsteps are louder now.

He can't be seen like this. Can't—

They'll call the ambulance. Take him to the ER.

_No._

His vision tunnels, the world spins, tilts, and he limps, sways into a stall, sliding down against the door when he's locked it. It's all closing in on him. The walls the world…  _everything_.

_Dying. Dyingdying._

_Heart won't stop._

_I'm dying._

_OhGodplease._

The water comes back up violently. He retches and retches and he doesn't know if he's even puking into the toilet or not. He can't see and he's throwing up—so much,  _ohgod_ , one hand gripping cold porcelain, fist clenching and it hurts, it  _hurts_. His heart pumps harder, his lunch and all that water rushing up his mouth and nose and  _stop_.  _Stoppleasestop_.

Someone knocks at the door. "Sam?"

He coughs, stomach back-flipping as he chokes on vomit and bile, gasping as he tries to catch his breath. He retches again, loudly, his ears ringing from the echo and effort of it as he pushes up the last of his stomach contents. His heart slows a little, bringing the breaths down with it.

He blinks, vision beginning to clear. Ruby knocks again. "Sam!"

He leans back against the wall, scrubbing at the sweat on his face as he takes two more breaths. He's still breathing a little too fast and his heart thumps a little too much, but he feels better. He hears Ruby's impatient pacing outside and reaches to the latch, pulling it open.

She looks ready to pounce at him. "What the  _fuck_ , Sam?"

Sam spits into the toilet bowl before flushing it. "What, you wanted to watch while I upchucked?" he asks her dryly.

He wants to ask her to stop already—stop showing this concern because she's FBI and she's  _lying_. She was told to keep an eye on him. She doesn't care.

Ruby crouches down before him. "You feeling better?" She still sounds a bit distant and Sam's head is spinning but yes, he feels much better.

He swallows. "Bad food."

"Call Dean."

He's getting annoyed now. He doesn't need her.  _Fuck no._  She can go back to wherever the fuck she came from.

His hand cramps again. His eye blinks. His heart rate is at a steady pace, though, even if it's a little fast still.

He just. He just needs his brother.

He doesn't want Dean to ever know this.

Ruby stands up, crosses her arms. "Call Dean, Sam. Or I will. And you know he'll freak out more if I do. You need to go home. I'll leave you here to decide on who's doing this."

She starts to make her way out of the bathroom and pauses at the doorway. "If I see you in English class today I'm calling him."

And she walks away, leaving Sam to rest his head against the wall again and curse under his breath. He's still trembling from head to toe when he picks up his phone and calls Dean.

**~o~**

"What brought it on?"

Sam curls tighter into his blankets and Dean sits by his brother's bed as he starts filling up a glass of water for him. Sam's fidgeting underneath the bedcovers, breathing fast, trying to get comfortable, but Dean can make out that he can't stay still.

Fuck, that's the worst panic attack Sam's had in at least a few months. That is not good and it's documented by the fact that Sam actually needs to lie down right now and that he's lost and  _scared_. He's come a long way in the last few months from being unable to handle this sudden lashing of his mind against him, from being unable to understand what was happening to him (he was hurting, grieving and stressed), to knowing to expect it and handle it on his own most of the time. He was always independent and he learned to snatch it back even after his downfall.

Sam's grown stronger as each day went, and Dean—Dean didn't think he'd ever see that massively broken version of his brother again. Sadly, something like this is enough to shatter the very wall of Sam's confidence on how he's been dealing. Of course Sam's been anxious in the last three weeks; anxious enough that Dean had to bring him home, but that was mostly just because he needed to be outside of that environment, outside of the reminders and triggers and just somewhere safe and comfortable. He was better when he got home, bitchy, even, in the next few hours.

And then there's the blinking eye. That's never good either because Dean knows what that means. It was one of Sam's tics during the initial days, the  _horrible_  days when Dean absolutely didn't know what to do with his brother and ever since, neither Dean nor Sam are particularly fond of the moments that it makes its appearances at.

Well, at least the panic attack subsided, even if the aftermath is this version of Sam, quivering and horrified. Dean can handle this.

At least, he thinks he can.

Dean requested Cas to meet his friends somewhere else the moment Sam had called. Cas had cancelled the gathering altogether and was now situated in his room after offering Sam an Ativan, which Sam refused. Dean doesn't know what his brother wants. He doesn't know how to make it better.

He wonders, vaguely, if his yelling in the morning set Sam off after all.

Sam shudders and Dean gazes at him as he tucks the blankets some more for his brother. God, if he just knew… if he could do something;  _anything_ , rather than see his little brother like this.

That phone call had been awful. Sam had sounded broken and desperate, requesting Dean to pick him up from college. Dean had found him on the floor of the men's bathroom, thankfully not passed out, but looking like he had been about to. Sam was woozy and shaking all over and scared as Dean had coaxed him up and out of there and bundled him up in the car and God, Dean had wished he would never have to see that again.

_If wishes were horses, beggars would ride._

He takes in a breath as he puts a hand on Sam's shoulder. "I gotta get started on dinner," he says. "What do you want?"

"N-Nothing."

"Not an option, Sammy. You have to get something into your stomach."

Sam lets out a shuddering sigh. "P-Panic attack mm-made me throw u-up."

Dean cringes. If the stuttering wasn't bad enough, the helplessness in Sam's voice is even worse. Sam hasn't sounded like this in a long time.

_Fuck off, Dean, I'm not hungry._

_Why don't you fucking eat if you so badly want to? I can feed myself._

But never… never like this.  _No._

Dean collects himself. "I know, Sammy," he replies in a quiet voice. "And I'm sorry, kiddo, but you gotta eat." Sam's BP is on the lower side. Dean's tried to get some electrolytes into his brother but Sam's exhausted and stressed and he needs a good meal too.

"Sammy, tell me what you want," he reiterates. "It's your night, man. We'll have whatever you like."

Sam doesn't reply, just shifts, and Dean grips him tighter. "Hey."

Sam sighs as he turns to face Dean. He looks so young, so vulnerable—face pale and sickly in the dim light from the living room. Dean wonders why he was an ass to Sam earlier this morning. He shouldn't have been. Sam… Sam's sick. The doctor said he's sick and he needs care, and—

"Let's go to Ellen's?" a hand comes to grip at the hem of Dean's shirt and Sam's eyes are wide and pleading. "Please?" he whispers.

Dean nods, cups Sam's neck, and lets him hold on. Because he knows what Sam is saying and why he's saying that. He doesn't want Dean to go to the kitchen. He doesn't want Dean to leave.

_Stay with me._

And Dean will.

**~o~**

"You sure about this?"

Sam's leaning against the passenger-side window when Dean pulls over at Ellen's, eyes half-mast and face still incredibly pale. Cas is sitting quietly in the backseat and Dean thinks of how it's been a bad day—no, a  _horrible_  day for all three of them. Most of all, Sam. Thank God it's coming to an end. Dinner and sleep. That's all they have on their agenda right now.

He licks his lip. "Sammy?"

Sam nods slowly. "Yeah." His voice is faint and hoarse and dammit, Dean just wants to bundle his little brother up and take him straight back home. However, Sam pulls himself up, letting out a stuttering breath as determination shines through sunken eyes. "Let's do this."

They head inside, Dean keeping up with Sam  _because he could fall he could get hurt he's not well,_  and Cas trails behind them, presumably in his own world. Dean feels bad for him. Dude is on-call tomorrow and those are the roughest days.

It's a familiar, comforting atmosphere when they enter the bar. Ellen has a place for them in her private dining area and she chats with them as she readies the steak. Sam loves her steak and he's not queasy anymore so Dean'd called in advance, requesting her to make some for them. He thinks of his Dad, of Mom, of Sam, and watches Ellen putter about, rubbing garlic and butter on slabs of beef. She puts it in the pan, tosses her dishtowel over her shoulder, and comes over to their table.

"You okay, honey?" she asks in a low voice, nodding at Sam.

Sam nods back, doesn't reply, and fidgets with his napkin. Ellen frowns, concerned, and Dean shrugs. "He's just having a bad day, Ellen. We all are. Figured your cooking might help."

"Oh, don't you flatter me, boy," she mutters over sizzling meat. She turns around to check on the pan and faces them again. "I'm trying something I learned from Gordon Ramsay for you."

Dean chuckles. "What an asshat. Glorious cook, though." He turns to Sam and watches his brother rest his arms over the table and bury his head in them. Kid is very tired, Dean thinks as he runs his hand through Sam's hair once. Sam sighs, bringing a smile to Dean's face.

"Wonder what he'll say about this place," Ellen ponders, eyes softening as she watches Dean and his ministrations.

Dean stops with his motions, keeps his fingers buried in his brother's hair for a moment. "He'd love it. You're the best n'all."

There is a pause as Ellen turns over the steak. He removes his hand from Sam's hair and grins, surprised that she didn't respond to him but she doesn't disappoint as she turns to throw the dishtowel at Dean. He raises his hands to catch it.

_BOOM_

It's like something split right through Dean's head. His ears ring, vision blackening and…

Screams. Hysterical sobbing.

"Dean! Dean!"

"C-Caaa…sss…"

"Sam!"

A hand in his. More sobbing.

"Dean!"

_Something hurts… hurts so much._

It's all warm. And wet. And blood… blood and glass and…

"DEAN!"

Blinding pain _. It's all black… it's all black._

_Cas._

_Sammy…?_

 


	5. Interlude: Phase One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These interludes are how I'll talk about Mary and what exactly she was trying to do. Hope you like it. :)
> 
> Many thanks to my babes, Naila/iamremy, and Sanj/SPNXBookworm for being so fabulous. Muah.

****

**_Shortly after briefing_ **

**_FBI Office_ **

**_Houston, Texas_ **

"Are you sure you're up for this?"

Mary nods, straightening up on her seat as she looks up at her SAC. "Yeah, Bobby, I am."

"It's a one-person job, or—"

"I know."

"You'll always have backup when you need it. Just tell us. We'll help you out. You only need to communicate."

"I will."

Bobby looks weary and a lot older than he really is as he runs a hand over his face, sighing. "You gonna tell the boys?"

"Just Dean," she says. "You know I can't tell Sam."

"No, you can't tell Sam."

She smiles. "He wrote to me, Bobby. Last week."

"He write to you often?"

"Sometimes."

The look on Bobby's face is morose. "That kid knows it's not your fault, doesn't he?"

Mary shrugs. "He's angry."

"That's a fat load of bull. And it's been  _years!_  Honestly, kids these days are freakin' impossible. Just get him once on the phone with me, an'—"

"It's all right, Bobby." Mary stands up. "I'm not sad. Or even mad at him. I know he'll come around. He's already coming around."

Bobby's face brightens a little at the news as he apparently misinterprets what she meant. "So he talk to Dean, finally?"

It's difficult for her to answer this time. "… No."

**~o~**

Mary mashes the potatoes in a daze, a hundred thoughts running through her head. She called Dean a while ago and he said he'd be coming over for dinner and that he'd get dessert.

She's going to make this special for her son. Because—

_I'm on a dangerous mission–it's risky and I'm undercover–it involves terrorists–I might not make it alive—_

She takes a deep breath and stops her thoughts right there. She's handled worse. She has a scar from an old bullet wound on her shoulder and another on her chest. She made it out alive after being stabbed in the stomach. She burned with fever and infection from an injury to her leg while she was on a case eight years ago, and she survived that too, after weeks of being in a touch-and-go situation at the ICU.

It's what made John paranoid in the first place.

She's going to survive this. She's going to kick ass.

Her hands hurt. She moves over to the fridge and looks for the milk as she goes over the details of her case.

_Terrorist group which calls itself 'The Demons'. Has been involved in organised crime. Leader is male, identifies himself as 'Lucifer'. No one knows what he looks like. First site of attack was the Minnesota Supreme Court two years ago. Suicide bombing killed thirty-eight. Second was in Idaho, six months ago. A local residential complex was bombed. Over eighty dead and several more injured. The threat is getting bigger and worse. No one seems to know where they're based at._

Until now.

Mary takes a deep breath.

Bobby's contact told him that some of Lucifer's inner circle is here in Houston. They're his trusted couriers and they know everything that he's planning; they know what he's doing and where he's doing it. All Mary needs to do is gain enough of their trust so she can get them to talk.

_Easy-peasy._

Maybe not so much.

She shuts her eyes, takes a deep breath, and gets back to her potatoes.

**~o~**

"Dean, I'm going undercover."

Dean looks up from his pie, eyes wide underneath long lashes. Mary's always loved his eyes; so, so much. But then again, she can't really choose what she loves best about her sons. They're the most important part of her and she adores every inch of their very being.

She showed Dean Sam's letter from last week. He read it, seemingly nonchalant and he sounded even angry when she spoke about Sam but the way his eyes lit up at Sam's handwriting, she knows Dean misses him.

"How long?" Dean asks her, shaking her out of her reverie.

"I can't say."

"So you'll take a while?"

"Yeah, baby."

She extends her hand and brushes off a crumb of bread from his cheek. He lets her, doesn't grumble like he usually does, and even leans in to her touch.

_I'll miss you, Mom._

She'll miss him too. So much. He's all she's had for three years now. Him and Sammy.

"You can't tell me what it is, though, can you?" he whispers.

She shakes her head. "I will when I get them."

Dean grins. "I  _know_  you'll get them, Mom."

His trust and blind faith is the best thing in the world for Mary. Dean approves. He knows Mary can do this and that is all she really needs right now.

_So why am I still so uncomfortable about this?_


	6. Hospital Blues

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So technically I'm on hiatus because eternal exams but I will be updating this fic as and when I find time! The detailed plot tells me there will be about 51 installments of this fic give or take (the number can change), and this includes the interludes where you will learn about Mary's side of the story.
> 
> Also, I have to confess to a mistake I made, which I noticed while writing this chapter and putting meticulous timelines on my plot. In chapter 2, I moved the timeline forward by six months, after incorrectly calculating this the first time I wrote. Basically, Mary died on Halloween, Jess died on November 2nd and Stanford reopened for its Spring quarter on March 28th. The story starts off in 2015 so as per this story timeline, we're now in April 2016, which we actually are, haha.
> 
> I also have to admit, I did not research bombs. Mostly because I wanted to skip having a weird search history, as these issues are serious. I did not look much into the FBI, except on some writing forums and on their website, and same with the terrorists. I need you guys to know this so you can forgive me (and correct me) if I'm wrong somewhere. Usually I don't compromise on research but this is fanfic and I am not setting my ass on fire with any kind of authorities for this, so I'm really sorry!
> 
> And, thank you to my wifeys, **iamremy/Niles** and **SPNxBookworm/Sanj** for always being there to help. :)

 

 _"_ _Make way."_

 _"…_ _seems to have 'aken… hit… head…"_

 _"_ _Coming 'rough… hey… we … CT… 'an?"_

 _"…_ _concussion…"_

Dean groans at the splitting headache and tries to shut his eyes to keep out the sudden blast of light. Everything blurs and moves and the people are shouting out weird stuff in muffled voices, forcing Dean to close his eyes again. He feels like he's underwater. A shrill ringing emanates from his ear, and he tries to turn away from it because it's so loud, he can't hear what they're saying… he can't…

 _"…'_ _ean… who…?"_

 _What was that?_ He tries to talk but his lips are too dry and his eyes are too heavy. His arm… _ohgod…_

 _"_ _D'n…"_

"Wh—" he can barely hear himself over the ringing. "Whaaa…?"

Someone pats his arm. He opens his eyes again and squints as someone calls out to him. From… from what seems like miles away.

No. _Two_ voices. He thinks he knows who they are.

"… _De_ —?"

His head throbs. His side pulsates and he can't move. It hurts. It hurts everywhere. The darkness was so much better compared to this… so much…

The unconsciousness claims him back and he lets the softness of the pillow comfort the agony in his head, reassured that his friend and his brother are here for him.

**~o~**

Cas watches Dean being wheeled away for a CT scan as a fellow resident, Javier, sews up the cut on his arm. His thigh smarts with pain, the fire from the blast having scorched him the worst there, apart from his foot and his leg, but they're all first to second degree and they've already been tended to. He has a perforation in his left eardrum too, due to the pressure wave from the blast; and apart from the hearing loss, that one is pretty much self-healing. His ankle is sprained and resting on an ice pack. Right now, however, he has a newly-acquired dull ache in his belly, apart from the flutter in his heart from the shock of everything. His cardiac monitor informs him that it is at a hundred and fifty, and he wishes he could calm down some.

The cubicle next to his is occupied by Sam, and Cas can see Anna work on a couple of burns on his hand. They're small; nothing like the ones that had made Sam lose his fingers about six months ago, but they are on his hand; his good hand, nonetheless, and Cas heard Sam ask Anna several times if they were going to heal.

Sam has more or less the same degree of injuries as Cas. Dean had shielded him just as the wall behind them had caved. He's sporting a spectacularly cut lip and a torn cheek which needs sutures, but he hasn't yet allowed anyone to put on him. Cas heard him complaining of tinnitus, which means Sam did not escape damaging his hearing in the blast, however temporary it's bound to be.

Both Sam and Cas seem to be less wounded than Dean right now, who has a fractured humerus, bruised ribs, a few cuts, and a concussion. He had lost consciousness briefly immediately after the explosion and had been in pain too. Between a very frantic Sam and a very injured Ellen, Cas remembers squeezing Dean's hand in comfort to calm him. And it had worked for a bit, even though it was awful afterwards how Dean couldn't pass out or stay awake, and was just in pain.

He is doing better than Ellen, however, who had a compound tibia fracture and an extradural haematoma amongst other things. Cas barely knows Ellen but he's hoping things are going well in the OR. He knows that the fact that the four of them did not die immediately, or get injured worse, is because they weren't in the primary blast area, which was the bar itself. They were in Ellen's personal kitchen, two rooms away.

Honestly, all four of them are better off than so many others. Cas shudders at the thought of some of the dismembered limbs that he'd watched being pulled out of the debris before the ambulance drove them here.

He vaguely hears Anna say something about sewing Sam up again. He can't make it all out due to the perforation in his eardrum but he turns back to his roommate to find Sam flinching, and then shaking his head to refuse. Sam got nervous when she offered to suture his cut. So she had moved around to his other, smaller wounds to let him get comfortable until Sam was just too jittery for Anna to continue, at which point he refused a sedative.

Anna looks like she's at a loss for solutions as she leans forward, tucking her hair behind her ears. "Do… you… 'ore time?" She is very good when it comes to being empathetic.

"Y-Yeah." Sam swallows, his voice loud and his eyes shifty. "I j-just."

"… stopped bleeding… unfortunately… sewn up," Anna replies. "So… call 'or me, 'kay? But try… quick? We… 'fection."

Sam nods frantically. "Thanks."

"N' p'blem." She pats Sam on the arm and leaves, and Cas watches Sam lie down on his bed.

Meanwhile, Javier finishes up Cas's wound and pulls the sleeve down, covering the rest of the bruises on his arm. He says something in a low voice, and Cas has to look up at him to try and understand. "I didn't hear that," he says.

"I need to get a look at your abdomen." Javier is slightly louder now, but sympathetic all the same.

"Oh. Sure." Cas lifts up his shirt and wonders if Dean might be doing better.

The resident takes the invitation to palpate Cas's abdomen, gloved hands touching and prodding, and Cas feels a sudden jolt of pain, accompanied by an involuntary hiss from his side when Javier reaches the area near his spleen.

His colleague notices it too, and stops. "That hurt?" He prods at it again.

"Yes." Cas tries not to wince.

"Need to speed up that CT scan then," Javier sighs, and continues to check for tenderness. "Tell me if there's any other place I'm missing…"

Cas lets him finish the palpation and watches him scribble onto his chart but his mind is diverted towards Dean and his welfare, and now, Sam, as he watches Anna re-enter the cubicle and draw the curtains shut.

 _"_ _No!"_

Cas might not be able to hear well, but that is most definitely Sam's voice. He sits up, knowing there's trouble when he hears movement.

"Sam—"

The curtains rip open and Sam is shooting out, walking away past Cas on shaky legs and Cas puts his own feet down on the side of his bed as he watches Sam head to the men's room. He waits where he is for a moment so he can try and rein in his pain, before hopping off to follow his roommate. Belatedly, he hears Anna call out from behind him. "Cas!"

He doesn't listen to her. His ankle is killing him, paining with every step but he hobbles along behind Sam. He makes his way to the restroom and opens the door to find Sam leaning at the sink, bracing the vanity.

It's like he's trying to hold on for support, like he can't stand without it.

And, really, he might be doing just that.

Cas shuts the door behind him and Sam doesn't look up; probably hasn't even heard him. He takes a step forward, training his poor hearing to the ragged breaths coming from Sam. As he takes gets closer, he sees the beads of sweat on Sam's forehead and realises that this is not good.

Sam is having a panic attack.

**~o~**

Dean wakes up with the mother of all hangovers.

No, seriously, he's never had one like this before. His head feels like he ran into a wall. His ears are ringing like crazy. His stomach is back-flipping all over the place and he's dehydrated like hell; like he ran twenty miles in the sun without drinking water. And the worst part of this fuck-up is, he knows his eyes are shut, but he can't stop being dizzy.

Fucking hangover.

At least, that's what it feels like, and God, it's so cold, _Sammy would you turn up the fucking thermostat?_

Well, that's what he wants to say anyway, but his mouth doesn't move and his eyes are stuck together with glue. He tries opening them and feels wet tears slide down his temple. Ew.

"Mr 'chester," a voice says, and Dean tries to concentrate over the persistent ringing in his ears. "Plea… 'lax," the person says, again. "You're…'st g't'ng… scan."

What the fuck is wrong with Dean's ears now? Or is Sam doing this on purpose?

_Ugh. Bad prank, Sammy._

Again, that's what Dean wants to say, but he can't because…

Who the fuck stuck his tongue to the roof of his mouth?

Dean's gut churns and something is coming up his throat. God, he's going to puke. This is so bad, so bad…

Someone talks. Dean can't hear anyway. Did someone punch him in the ear? Ugh.

He feels something cold on the back of his palm and it's all bliss and heaven and back to where he was before he had this fucking hangover.

**~o~**

As a resident of Emergency Medicine, Cas has handled several panic attacks in the past. Many come to the ER thinking it's a heart attack, even, and after several frantic EKGs and useless triage for a whole year, Cas now knows how to tell one from the other earlier on.

Plus this is Sam and he suffers with panic disorder.

Cas always thought a heart attack was way simpler than a panic attack. Heart attacks are structural diseases. They have a definite cause and a treatment that, if it has to work, will most definitely work. Panic attacks, however, are related to the mind, and how do you cure a damaged mind?

Cas limps a bit more and gets closer to Sam. His feet are bare and the floor is cold and he wants that ice pack back on his ankle now. He casts a glance at Sam's white knuckles, on hands gripping the counter for dear life, and places a gentle hand on his friend's shoulder.

Sam jumps an entire foot, breaths hitching as he turns around. "C-Cas?"

"You should sit down." Cas palms Sam's other shoulder, guiding him to the tiled floor. Sam is pliant, burying his face in his hands, still gasping. Cas sits next to him the best he can without making his own wounds worse. "Please try and take deep breaths," he says.

He doesn't know if Sam listened to him because the breaths are getting quicker, stuttering and stumbling out of Sam, and now Cas realises that he isn't even sure how to handle a panic attack, apart from emptying a syringe of Versed into Sam's vein. But that isn't an option and Cas reckons he'll just have to try his best.

"Sam," he murmurs, "you're going to be all right." It's one of the most basic words of comfort he can offer. What would Dean say? Does he do something special to ground Sam? Does Sam have a ritual for grounding himself, that he needs help doing?

Sam gasps out another breath, and Cas pats him softly, thinking of what else could make him feel better. "Dean is going to be all right too," he says at long last, although he has no idea if that is the truth. "He is just in for a scan for his concussion."

"M-My…" Sam swallows, face still hidden in his hands. "C-Cas, Dean… it's my f-fault, I—"

"He shielded you," says Cas, "because he cares, and he wants you safe. None of that is your mistake, or even his. You're both going to be completely fine in a few weeks."

Sam nods again and again, and he sniffs, trying to control his breaths. Cas pats his back once. "Look at me."

Sam cowers, but Cas taps his wrist. "Please let me help you."

At those words Sam abruptly looks up from his hands, eyes bloodshot, and Cas tries to smile. "I just want you to breathe like me, Sam. Can you see this?" He points to his chest and takes a long, deep breath.

Sam blinks, an inhale getting caught in his throat as he tries the same, but he attempts it again, and manages to draw in a breath.

"Good," Cas encourages him, inhaling again. Sam follows, knuckles rubbing at his eyes as though he is a small child.

"More," Cas tells him, pleased at himself as he tries to coach Sam through it. And Sam follows, stutter-by-stutter, and then, breath-by-breath, for the next few minutes, until he isn't gasping anymore, until there is relative silence.

Then Cas smiles up at him. "You did well, Sam. But I hope you know that your wound has to be sutured."

Sam blinks at him, swallows, hesitates, and finally speaks in a hoarse voice. "Will you d-do it for me?"

**~o~**

"Why is Dean t-taking so long?"

Sam sounds worn-out; exhausted as Cas finishes giving him the local anaesthetic. Garth opens up sterile sutures and Cas reaches in with gloved hands to pick up the threaded needle, the holder locking itself with a satisfying crunch.

Cas turns back to his roommate and current patient. "He will be back in no time," he says. "It should be done now." Of course, he has no idea if that is true, but he can judge that Sam just needs some confirmation right now about Dean. Something definite to believe.

He holds the edges of the wound together with forceps and draws the needle in and out of skin, twirling the excess thread in his fingers before putting in the knots. He then waits for Garth to cut off the material, before going in for the second stitch.

A patient's trust is everything to Cas, and after days of relative silence, this response from Sam heartens him. He is glad to know Sam has faith in him; that he could help Sam out of the panic attack.

"Do you pray?" Sam asks him suddenly, as Cas finishes squaring the second stitch.

"Yes, I do," he replies while he waits for Garth to make the cut. "Do you, Sam?"

"Y-Yeah." Sam huffs out a breath. "Everyday."

That answer is something Cas didn't expect from a person who seems to have lost a lot of things in his life. But Cas prays too. He has faith and he isn't astonished at himself for it. So in what way is he different from Sam, except for the fact that his own loss isn't associated with actual death? It's probably easier for both of them to hope; to grab any goodness that hits their lives.

"Dean thinks I'm-I'm stupid," Sam continues, "to pray, when our lives have just-just been shit, you know?"

"I understand."

"But that isn't what this-this is about," says Sam. "It's not whether my life sucks, or-or if Dean's life sucks, because, it does suck for both of us, but sometimes, when things go to shit, it-it's just better to know someone's watching."

"I agree, Sam. You are not stupid or delusional by any means to believe in a god. As long as we don't harm anyone by doing something that comforts us, it's not wrong."

And for the first time in a while, Sam smiles at Cas. Cas smiles back at him, feeling like something inside him has clicked into place.

Dean comes back in just while Cas is finishing up, and he watches Sam's face light up a little at the sight of his unconscious brother. Cas himself is due for a few scans next; Sam too, and if they're in the clear they can both leave the hospital (or rather, care for Dean).

As Cas tapes the bandage to Sam's sutures, Javier comes back to look for him and tells him that they're ready for him. He gets up from his place, only to receive another smile from Sam, along with the promise of a great friendship that's just beginning.

**~o~**

_In what has now been identified as a terrorist attack—_

_—_ _three locations bordering the Stanford University campus were bombed; all popular destinations for students—_

_Police enquiry is ongoing regarding—_

_…_ _twenty-four reported dead as of now, fifty-six injured…_

"Cas, just shut the TV, man. It's giving me a fucking headache," Dean grumbles, leaning against his pillows. He glances at the door to see if Sam's back yet. Kid's been gone an hour now. And after everything that just happened today—

Sudden fear engulfs Dean, tingling through his arms and legs and he lies there for a moment, petrified. Bomb blast. They were in a fucking _bomb blast_. The shit Dean's only seen on TV and movies.

Really, what's taking Sam so long? There's a sandwich shop nearby and Sam had said he'd be getting their food as soon as he could. Kid shouldn't be alone. Not after all this and

No, no, it's not going to happen again. Not so soon. There's… it's not common for another bomb blast a while later, is it…?

Dean shuts his eyes, trying to stop his mind from racing towards conclusions. God, what a horrible day. What a fucking _horrible_ day.

Meanwhile, Cas switches the TV off and throws the remote aside. "It's worrying if this is a terrorist attack, Dean," he says, mouth pressed into a thin line. He's on the other bed, in the hospital room that he and Dean are sharing, with several tubes running in and out of him. Apparently, he's got a slight injury to his spleen from the attack, and needs fluids and bed rest for a couple of days now.

He looks pale and nauseated and he's been like this ever since Dean woke up. Dean, who suffered a concussion, a broken arm, bruised ribs and now has stitches on his side, but is doing way better than so many other people who were at the blast site and Sam and Cas and Ellen too, and oh, _thank God_.

It's not like they got off without consequences, though. According to Cas, Sam had another panic attack while Dean was unconscious, and he refused treatment for it (like he has been for most of his issues of late) and fuck, Dean can't imagine his brother going through that shit for the second time today. No one was even there to tell Sam that it would be okay. That they would get through this. Sam was _alone_. And, okay, Cas was there but Sam has barely spoken to Cas, until today, apparently. So Cas was just a stranger to him at that time.

However, Sam pulled through it and seemed steady when Dean woke up. He smiled, he freaked out a little, but he was _fine_. And for God-knows-what reason, he insisted on getting dinner too. Dean realises now that Sam just needs air. He needs air sometimes and he takes off. It'd be better if he didn't do it right after a fucking bomb blast, though.

Cas, on the other hand, seemed more or less composed an hour ago but now it all seems to be sinking in because he is twitchy and nervous too, and almost as bad as Sam. Hell, _Dean_ is almost as bad as Sam right now and he wishes his brother would just come back so they can pretend this didn't happen.

Except, it did.

Does he even have a right to be shaken up about it, though? After having his family and friends intact despite this whole ordeal?

He wipes a hand down his face when he realises Cas has been staring all this time. He said something. He said something before Dean's mind shot off on a tangent.

Dean feels like his tongue is stuck to the roof of his mouth, and he swallows down saliva. "What did you say, Cas?"

Cas squints at him. "Are you having trouble hearing?"

A little bit. There is a dull keening in Dean's ears, masking taking his attention away from the other sounds but he reckons he'll live. "Apart from the weird ringing," he tells Cas, "I'm fine. But you said something and I wasn't," he gestures with his fingers, "paying attention."

"That's fine." Cas adjusts his blankets. "Tinnitus is a common blast injury to your hearing. Sam and has it too. I have an eardrum perforation. We will all recover in due time."

"Yeah, I hear ya," Dean grins, and Cas narrows his eyes.

"Jokes on hearing loss are not funny, Dean."

"But this ain't hearing loss. It's trinity."

" _Tinnitus_."

"Yeesh, you're as bad as Sammy."

"Dean—"

"Hey, but I get it. They do say that humour lies in the ears of the beholder…"

"No."

"Stop being a killjoy."

Cas loses some of his nervous twitch to roll his eyes at Dean, just as his phone begins to ring. After another disapproving look at Dean, Cas takes the call and starts talking in a low voice. Dean knows he's doing it so he can't catch the conversation.

"Asshole," he mutters. And when he realises Cas can't hear that either—

"ASSHOLE."

Cas narrows his eyes from the other side and continues on his conversation, and Dean realises he really needs someone to keep talking. Because otherwise his mind keeps reverting to…

_Bomb blast._

Fuck, he can't believe this. They were in a fucking bomb blast of all the goddamned horrible things they could be in. His mind is just spinning in circles on that one.

Dean pushes it away. _Again_. "At least Ellen's fine," he says, more to himself than to Cas while trying to get his voice to not shake. She's in surgery for her broken leg and apparently they drained the haemorrhage or whatever that was in her head without incident. And all that is a lot better than… well.

Once more, Dean doesn't want to think about it.

Where is Sam though?

Dean doesn't notice Cas disconnecting the call, but the air in the room seems to turn cooler, making him turn to his friend. And the moment he sees Cas's face, he knows it's bad news.

"Two more bodies have been recognised," Cas says in a small voice, before Dean can ask. "From Harvelle's."

Well, yeah, that's gonna be happening for a few days now, but if he's saying it like this…

"Anyone we know?"

Cas swallows. "Gordon Walker. Ash."

"Yeah, Gordon was a douche but he shouldn't have—wait, _who_?"

Cas is sympathetic when he meets eyes with Dean. "Ash. I didn't know him all that well, but I should think you did."

Dean's mind buzzes. Yes, he knew Ash. That idiotic genius who was always up to something in the backroom. He was a good guy too, and always friendly with Sam and Dean while being of great help to Ellen. No, he didn't deserve to go.

Sam chooses that moment to come barging into the room, hands laden with bags. Dean moves on his bed, making space for his brother to sit while Sam deposits the food onto the cabinet. He wheels Dean's table over to the bed and unwraps a burger and fries. Dean can see Sam's hands shaking while he does it and he wants to ask him to stop; to take a breath, because no one's had a worse day than Sammy.

Sam pauses a little to smile at Dean's roommate. "Hey, Cas." Cas waves back at Sam. He technically isn't supposed to move much so he's on tube feedings to relax his system a little and Dean feels bad for the guy and his spleen. But he has other priorities now.

Case in point: his trembling brother, who is setting up his meal.

"Sammy," Dean begins, as Sam rolls the table closer to Dean and helps him sit.

"Eat," Sam grunts in reply.

"Yeah, I will," Dean assures him. "You start too."

Sam nods and reaches for the other bag with his stuff. He opens his bag, peeks inside, and then looks up at Dean and Dean knows what's coming next.

"Dean, I—"

"Sammy, you gotta eat."

Sam shakes his head, hands still shaking as he puts the bag back and buries his face in his palms. Cas stops flipping through TV channels as he notices this, and glances at Dean.

"Dean, do you—?"

Dean shakes his head as he grasps Sam's shoulder. "He's okay." He sits up further and pulls Sam towards himself. "Hey, Sammy, we're okay."

Sam doesn't look up, just nodding to acknowledge Dean, and Dean cups his neck. "Come on…"

"D-Dean."

"Yeah, pal."

"I…" Sam stops hiding his face, holding out his bandaged palm to Dean. The _good_ hand. "It… it's burnt again and…"

Oh. _Oh_.

Dean looks into his brother's eyes, the confession so private, so reluctant; almost as if Sam is _ashamed_. Dean understands, though. Even if he doesn't know much, other than the fact that Sam doesn't need to be ashamed of any goddamned thing, ever.

The last five months flash by in a blur, right there, behind his eyes, until he can find his voice.

"It's not like the last time," he says quietly. "They aren't cutting off the rest of your fingers, okay?"

Sam nods. "I thought they would," he says, and Jesus, he sounds _scared_. "Th-they wanted to sedate me, and…"And, oh, Sam has a million problems with sedatives but Dean never realised this was one of the reasons. That he was scared he'd wake up missing parts of himself. God, this is so fucked up. What did Sammy ever do to deserve this shit?

"And-And…" Sam takes a sharp breath as he continues, "m'ear is ringing. They said I can hear again, but I don't-I don't know."

He's talking like a kid. A goddamned seven-year-old who's so fucking frightened, and Dean wants to smash something and ask for his brother back; the old Sam, who wouldn't fucking break his heart like this. The dude who was stubborn as a mule and really stupid, but unwilling to break no matter what.

That bastard fire in Sam's apartment managed to change him; turn in and tear him apart and Dean will not forgive the goddamned horrible fate that they have.

But his brother needs him now and hell if he isn't going to be there for Sam at this moment.

Dean tries to hang on to the saner thoughts in his head. "Hey," he smiles as kindly as he can, rubbing the base of Sam's neck, "mine's the same. It's ringing. You know what I did?"

"What?"

"I sent it to voicemail."

Dean feels the grin coming, and he is so goddamned proud right now, but Sam just looks away, making him feel like a loser again, thank you very much. He sighs and leans closer to his brother, grasping him tighter. "I know it sucked. All of it. But you're okay. We're gonna be okay." He looks towards Cas, pleading for help, but from the looks of it, Cas doesn't know how to handle this at all. He makes a valiant effort though.

"Would you like a sedative, Sam?" he asks, casting a confused glance at Dean. "Maybe some rest—"

Sam's breath hitches and he shakes his head, drawing his fingers through his hair while he looks up. "N-No, I'm okay, I—"

He turns to Dean, who smiles at him. "Yeah. You're good. And," he winks at Cas, who, for some reason, looks away, "hey, isn't there a saying about becoming thicker friends after surviving shit like this?"

Sam laughs shakily. "I d-don't know… no…"

"In the first Harry Potter book, a near-death experience was what brought Harry, Ron and Hermione together," Cas supplies seriously, and Dean feels some of the weight lift off his shoulders when he snorts.

Sam is amazed at this revelation, though. "You-you read Harry Potter?"

Dean rolls his eyes, exasperated and amused. "Don't tell me I gotta deal with two nerds now. One was enough—"

"It is a good read, Dean," Cas reasons.

"Yeah, and I saved my time by watching the movies." Dean grins to himself.

"I see you do not like to read."

"No, hey, I do," Dean turns to him, crossing his arms in defiance. "I just…" he shrugs, 'I do it at my own pace, okay?"

He looks away and there's a bit of silence and he presumes Cas is disbelieving, because Sam speaks up. "He does actually read, you know." There is a beat of silence. "He-he reads Vonnegut."

"Vonnegut."

"Hemingway, Bukowski… he likes the-the heavy stuff." And Dean can already feel the blush creep up his cheek.

"In that case," Cas replies, "we are not the 'nerds', Dean."

"Shut your face."

Sam huffs out a small chuckle. "How original."

Dean looks at the pair of them. "You two besties gonna gang up on me now? Go talk about your wizard and his big wand."

Sam scrunches his nose. "Don't make it dirty."

"Hey, I didn't, it's your brain that decided that was dirty."

Sam bitchfaces him. And that is the best fucking thing Dean has seen today, even though he won't admit to it. Because, Sam is ugly.

Asshole.

"So you followed all the books?" Sam resumes his conversation with Cas. "I kinda used to buy 'em on the first day and all…"

"I did follow them, but I did not buy them on the releasing dates," says Cas. "I started reading them for an entire other reason." He pauses, hesitating a bit. "To be completely honest, they were my daughter's favourite bedtime story and I ended up narrating the entire series to her over a span two years. She enjoyed it."

It takes a moment for Dean to register the entirety of what Cas said, but when he does realise, he is flipping over to face his roommate, eyeing Sam's hanging jaw and trying to remember Cas telling them about being a dad to someone.

And, no, he hadn't said anything.

"Dude," Dean begins, "you have a kid?"

"Yes, and I was married."

"Really?"

Cas nods. "They're on their way to visit me," he admits to them. "I wanted to tell you, during the interview, but I was afraid it wouldn't be acceptable. And you won't see them much anyway."

"Acceptable?" Dean raises an eyebrow. "I mean, whether you're married or have a girlfriend is your business, but we wouldn't say no because you're a dad." He snorts, realisation dawning on him. "No wonder you're so boring. You're a dad who can't even do dad jokes."

"What are those?"

Dean ignores it, rolling his eyes. "How do you plan to let her stay when she visits you? That apartment is a fucking pigeonhole. No place for a kid."

"I will not bring her home," says Cas. "I share custody but we meet outside and I usually help her with her homework at the hospital, and—"

"Take a breather," Dean tells him. "You wanna talk about it?"

Cas's restless blue gaze settles on Dean, and Dean feels something warm and soothing rush over him as his roommate nods. "All right. But it's a complicated story."

Dean takes a bite out of his burger, shrugging. "Can't go anywhere from here, Cas. So I guess we've got all the time you need."


	7. Cas's Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More information on Cas, Ruby, Mary, and the terrorist attacks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, I spent all this time working on my DCBB haha (I only have time to do one thing at a time, sadly).
> 
> Thank you for sticking with me and reading anyway. If you're interested, after this, do check out my DCBB [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8220428). I worked hard on it and I really love how it turned out. :) 
> 
> Also, a NG tube is a nasogastric tube. Feeding tube, basically. Cas will think and speak in medical terms, so. 
> 
> And, like always, thank you to my wifeys, **iamremy/Niles** and **SPNxBookworm/Sanj** for always being there to help. :)

****   


 

"Claire was born from a teenage pregnancy." Cas can feel the wistfulness rush through him even as he says it. She is, after all, everything he has, and right now, like every other time, he's excited to talk about her. To tell someone that he has her. that he will see her in a while, too.

"We were very young—Amelia slightly older than me, but still a teenager. My fath– _family_ did not really… like it…" He presses his lips together and tries not to look at his roommates, scratching instead at the bandage on his nose for his NG tube. "My father was well-off. I lived a protected childhood. So I found myself at a loss when it came to dealing with something like this. But Amelia… Amelia is a good person. I cherish her."

_Cas holds on to his beer as Gabe takes a wild turn, the tyres of his brand new car screeching against asphalt in protest. Some of the liquid from his bottle threatens to fall, but Cas manages to make sure it doesn't, just as his sibling side-eyes him. "You spill that beer on my upholstery, you get kicked out, li'l bro."_

_The warning is effective. Cas clutches the bottle closer to himself, feeling the cool condensation dampen a patch on his t-shirt. Gabe takes another turn, whooping, as he reaches for his own beer and takes a swig._

_"Thought I'd have to wait forever for this," he says. "The old man looked like he was never gonna get me one of these sweet babes."_

_"_ _Father works hard for everything he gives us."_

 _"_ _Suuure. Got nothing to do with the fact that he was born rich."_

 _"_ _Yes, but that didn't mean—"_

 _"_ _Look at you," Gabe chides as he turns to Cas for a brief moment, voice bitter. "Being daddy's favourite again."_

 _"_ _Gabe, I'm not—"_

 _"_ _Cut it." The car starts to slow, and Gabe veers it into an alley, switching the headlights off. "You're always gonna be on his side." He pushes down on the breaks bringing the car to a complete halt and a moment later, a girl walks out of the shadows. Shiny blond hair spills out of her hoodie, but the rest of her face is obscured._

 _"_ _Hey, sweetheart," Gabe greets her with a smirk. "How much you got?"_

 _"_ _How much do you want?"_

_Gabe's smirk widens and he reaches for his pocket. Cas pretends to concentrate on his beer then, pretends not to notice he ever saw the exchange happen. A moment later, like it actually didn't happen, Gabe pulls out of the alley, while Cas tries to keep his rushing pulse in check, looking for the girl in the hoodie in the side mirrors. He is disappointed when he realises that she seems to have disappeared._

"Amelia grew up an orphan. She was in the foster care system a lot, in group homes." Cas can feel the colour drain out of his face when he remembers it. "She had a hard life and I think, for all that, she has achieved and succeeded more than anyone can ever imagine. We didn't even talk the first time I met her."

 _"_ _Who's the cutie? Does he talk?"_

_It's been six months since Gabe got the car. They're in the same alley, Cas with another bottle of beer. The girl in the hoodie passes a small pouch into Gabe's hand._

_"_ _Oh, he talks," Gabe replies with a grin._

 _"_ _Cool." The girl seems to have lost interest as quickly as it came. She twirls a lock of hair around her finger. "Hey, can I get a ride?"_

_Gabe rubs at his forehead. "To?"_

_She opens the backdoor and seats herself in the car before replying. "Pine Street. Kinda nearing my curfew."_

_"_ _That's where your folks are?" Gabe starts reversing out of the alley, looking now and again into the rearview mirror._

 _"_ _Nah. I'm walking home from there."_

 _"_ _All right."_

_The ride is quiet after that. Cas keeps fidgeting with his beer, not drinking it, but not looking away from it either. When the car pulls to a halt, the girl hops off and bends over Cas's open window, and he sees her face for the first time. Brown eyes sparkle on a thin, beautiful face and she bites at her lip as she winks. "See you around, cutie."_

Cas looks up at Sam and Dean, who've been listening to him, enraptured. He doesn't know how to continue. He scratches at his NG tube again, an uncomfortable warmth spreading through him.

"We… fell in love in a rather strange way," he says, and Sam smiles a little, sadness and recognition etching his face. Cas wonders about Sam and Jessica. If their story is just as strange, and if Sam will ever tell them, and the whole thought has him looking away because he can't bear to see his roommate sitting there beside him, looking like everything he lived for has been sucked out clean from him. Like he's been robbed of every inkling of happiness that ever existed.

Cas can't imagine losing Amelia or Claire and he is shuddering.

"Cas?" Dean prods him gently from the other side.

Cas turns to concerned green eyes and a beaten-down man who still hopes and cares for his brother with everything he has, and he thinks, his story can't be the worst out there.

"She hated me at first," Cas continues, "I said something very stupid and it did not work out into a friendship at all."

 _"_ _Lily." Cas calls her that because that's who Gabe says she is. He's sure it's not her real name. "Lily, hello."_

_They're in an alley and she looks up from the burrito that she's devouring on the stairs of an old building. "Hey," she says, standing up and finishing the last of her food as she aims the wrapper at a dumpster. It hits its mark. "I hooked your brother up last night," she says. "He need more?"_

_Cas fiddles with the sleeves of his hoodie, pulling them over his hands, trying to escape the chill in the air. He opens his mouth, shuts it, and she descends the stairs, raising her eyebrow as her hair floats in wisps behind her, blown back by the light breeze. She looks like an angel._

_"_ _What's your name, cutie?" she asks, while Cas contemplates if he's even worthy of maintaining eye-contact with her. "Aren't you a little young for this?"_

 _"_ _Are you going to report me?"_

_She laughs, fingering her hair again. "You really think so?" And then after a pause, "No. You looking to get hooked up too?"_

_"_ _Yes."_

 _"_ _Okay. So what do you want?"_

_His heart is racing and he wants to say no, but he runs his tongue over chapped lips. "I would very much like some marijuana."_

_She stares at him a whole moment, before bursting into laughter. "That's adorable!"_

_"_ _No, no, I really—"_

_She stops laughing, wiping away tears from the corners of her eyes. "How about I buy you an ice cream?"_

_"_ _I'm not that much younger than you are." He's starting to get annoyed now. She talks to Gabe. They're friends. She doesn't laugh at him. Then what the hell is so funny about Cas?_

_He follows her as she begins to stalk away. The streets are dark and he needs to get home in half an hour, but he doesn't care. She leads him into a small ice cream shop and orders the Triple-Drizzle Choco Bomb for both of them, complete with nuts and sprinkles._

_They're silent as they take a booth, but she starts talking at her second spoonful. "So you look like a nice kid."_

_He bristles. "I'm fifteen, you know."_

_"_ _Kid," she sighs._

 _"_ _You're sixteen."_

 _"_ _Yup."_

 _"_ _You are a minor as well. You shouldn't be… in this trade."_

_She snorts as she licks her spoon clean with each bite of ice cream. Her hair falls on her face and she lifts a hand to brush it away, winking at Cas when she catches him staring. Cas looks away, feeling his cheeks go red and digs a spoon into his own bowl._

_It's void of conversation, their small meet-up and after they have finished their ice creams she gets up from her seat. "Come on," she says, "it's getting late."_

_He stands, rushing to catch up as she walks away. "I'm serious," he says as they head out into the street. "This is dangerous. You can make money in so many ways—"_

_She stops, an eyebrow going up. "What's your name?"_

_Cas blinks. "It's…" he hesitates, wonders how come Gabe never mentioned him. "It's Castiel."_

_"_ _Okay, Castiel." She flicks her hair back. "I'm doing this for reasons you don't know and will never understand."_

 _"_ _No, I do—"_

 _"_ _Listen to me," she asserts, poking a finger to his chest. "You have a rich daddy and a rich brother and you grew up with the best shit all around. Maybe your dad will make a donation and you'll go to a great school and get an amazing degree and come turn up your nose at people like me."_

 _"_ _I wasn't—"_

 _"_ _I said,_ _**listen** _ _." She pokes him again. "I have got to look out for myself. The CPS, sure, they say they're here for me but they wouldn't know which foster dad is waiting to get a fuck out of me and which family is waiting to beat the shit out of me and sometimes I don't think they care."_

 _"_ _I understand."_

 _"_ _No, you don't," she says, "so fuck off."_

_He opens his mouth to speak but she's turning away, sliding her hoodie over her head and vanishing around the corner by the time he can blink again._

"That is how I got to know her." Cas stops there, reluctant to tell the rest of his story. "It got better between us."

Dean raises an eyebrow. "After… she asked you to screw yourself?"

"Yes. Gabe was drunk at a party a year later. I went to pick him up. She kissed me."

Dean coughs into his burger. "And…?"

"Yes," Cas whispers. "She was still dealing at that time. I still didn't understand. But things changed."

"And she got pregnant."

"Yes, we did not use protection."

Cas stops, watching Sam and Dean's intense stares and feeling slightly uncomfortable with it. The silence between his narrations is daunting and gruelling and he grits his teeth as he prepares himself to talk. "She was moved to a group home for pregnant teenagers. My father sent me away to boarding school."

"And your dad is rich."

"Yes."

"Awesome! How're you broke then, dude?"

"I walked out of my home," Cas shrugs. "And like any other student I have debts."

"And your dad…?"

"He offered to pay. I did not want his help. Plenty of people live lives without much money and I think I am doing all right in that aspect."

"And you went to college with a kid? Wow, man."

"Yes. Amelia was, and is a hardworking, extremely intelligent person. She was ambitious. She was not lying when she got angry at me for having a rich father and easier school prospects, and she did not leave any stone unturned to make sure her disadvantages did not mean that she had to compromise on her academics. She would never touch her own drugs and she gathered the money towards giving herself a future.

"Her grades were good enough to earn her a full scholarship at UCLA. She went to college after I graduated high school, so someone could be around for Claire all the time. I stayed back and looked after Claire for two years. Amelia and I had to work odd jobs to afford a small place for us and Claire." Cas can see Dean shift and glance at Sam from the corner of his eyes, but they're both silent and unquestioning. They're letting Cas take his time to say whatever he wants to say and he's grateful for that, even though he doesn't know how much he can actually tell them.

"I started pre-med at Stanford when I was twenty," Cas finally continues, fingers going back to play absently with the NG tube. It's uncomfortable having one in him, but he'd imagined it to be way worse when he'd got the tube into his patients before. "I did not get a full scholarship for it. That's why…" he is scoffing again, "I'm broke, and still a second year resident."

"You still got into Stanford, man. Fucking Stanford, after all of that. That is _awesome_."

Cas has to shut his eyes for a moment. For a moment as the images whiz by, of being married, Claire, the fights and the fights and the fights…

 _"_ _What the hell is wrong with you?!" Amelia is blurry and Cas blinks at her. Claire is crying loudly somewhere as he tries to make sense of what is happening. He's on the floor and he's so tired, so tired…_

 _"_ _My daughter isn't a joke!" Amelia says, gripping Cas's shoulders._

 _"_ _Our daughter."_

 _"_ _MY daughter isn't a goddamned joke!"_

_He doesn't understand. He watches Amelia run to Claire and she emerges a bit later, holding the little girl in her arms. Claire is still sobbing. "Daddy!"_

_Cas wants to reach for her. She's his everything. Every reason for him to be alive. Every reason he's holding on to… after everything… after everything…_

_He flinches as the door bangs shut behind Amelia, the sound of the footsteps retreating as she leaves him and his life._

**~o~**

All his life, Dean's always thought that Sammy's the smartest kid on this planet but he reckons Cas is pretty much a close second if he could do all of this while taking care of a kid and being broke as hell.

He thinks of how deep Cas runs; of how Dean thought only of his and Sam's lives until now, and had never bothered to know about Cas's. And yet, here he was, having lived an equally difficult life as them; just in a different way. Because, Dean is sure as fuck that it's not easy to be a parent and be broke all at once. And, Jesus, is everyone in that little apartment of theirs fucking cursed or what?

Cas seems to have drifted off somewhere, his eyes shut, and he stays like that for a minute. When he opens them again, though, his eyes look darker, like something is haunting him. "After Amelia graduated," he says. "I drove to UCLA with Claire for the ceremony and asked her to marry me. She agreed."

"It didn't work out, though," Dean concludes, heart sinking a little.

"No," Cas says simply. "Some days it was plain ugly. We eventually got a divorce. We remain friends now. Amelia is fair about our shared custody with Claire."

"As she should be." Cas looks into Dean's eyes, and Dean tries to copy the light smile on his roommate's face while all of Today's Shitty Events and Revelations still press down on him. "I think you'd make a good dad, Cas. Boring," he grins, "but good."

"Thank you."

Dean averts his gaze from Cas's then, so he can eat his food. Beside him, Sam's been quiet; he listens and processes and in another time he would talk, but Dean just watches his brother for a moment.

Sam is still picking at his burger, taking minuscule bites, and when he swallows nervously, Dean knows he's going to talk. And sure enough—

"Cas," Sam whispers, and then clears his throat.

"Yes?"

"You read the entire Harry Potter series to her." Sam turns around. "You are a good dad."

"That is kind of you, Sam."

And just like that, Dean is kinda proud that he and Sam chose Cas for their roommate, and not someone else. They couldn't get a more awesome, kickass roommate than this one. Sammy is warming up to him, too. They're gonna be good. They're gonna be fine. Dean knows that for sure. At least, today, after all this horrible shit, he can say he knows this single, stupid thing for sure that he, Sam and Cas are going to be okay.

**~o~**

"What are you doing—what is _he_ doing here?" Special Agent Jody Mills is yelling out to Elena Franklin, another agent, who rolls her eyes and saunters over to them with her hands in her pockets but doesn't reply to Jody. Elena is in her usual leather jacket with her dark hair pulled into a bun. Bobby has worked with her before and she is good.

He crosses his arms. "Deputy Director's orders. I got a transfer. You don't think I resisted when I knew it was _you_?"

They're standing outside the ER at Stanford Medical Centre, a few hours after the blasts. There were three of them, one after the other, and the number of casualties is high. The air reeks of blood and panic and smoke and Bobby feels like he will never be able to wash this stink off him. He'd been transferred to the Sacramento field office just yesterday to join the JTTF and work the threat they'd found and apparently neutralised at Palo Alto a few days ago.

It looks like said threat was far from gone, though.

Jody narrows her eyes. "I'm sorry I missed the memo but as you can see, the last few days have been stressful. We have a terrorist organisation on our hands."

"Yeah, that's obvious," Bobby tells her. He nods at Elena. "Ya keepin' an eye on him? Why are you out in the open with us? Where's your handler?"

She smirks. "Sam's fine. He thinks my name is _Ruby_. And I'm here as Ruby to meet him, so if you want you can pretend you're interviewing me or something."

"Well, Sam's obviously not _fine_ , since he was in the vicinity of a bombing. And he hasn't been admitted," says Bobby. "So you need to leave and call him instead."

Elena pushes her hair behind her eyes. "Yeah, I didn't know he wasn't admitted. I'll go back and give him a call."

"Bobby," Jody interrupts the conversation, "Elena is with Sam under _my_ orders and she's making sure there's nothing suspicious about him. You aren't her SAC. You don't get to boss her about."

" _Suspicious_? Have you met that boy?" Bobby snorts for good measure, thinking of how ridiculous _that_ sounds.

"Apparently, _you've_ met him," says Jody, an eyebrow arched as she eyes him.

Bobby hangs his head, remembering Mary. "Yeah, I have. His mom worked under me. I appointed her to that last job of hers."

Jody's eyes soften. "You know that it could be a relative, too. The killer. Agent Winchester has only two relatives who are alive. Her sons."

They're in a secluded spot, unnoticed because of the commotion around them, but Bobby still refrains from discussing it further. "Can we go somewhere private to talk? Never know who's listening."

"Yeah, I requested one of the doctors to let us use his office," Jody replies. "Come on."

"I'll leave," Elena says, "if you're going to have Sam talk to you. I mean, he probably knows I'm FBI—"

" _What_?"

"I might have dropped a fake ID," she replies, smirking.

Jody's eyes are wide with horror. "I'm – I'm firing you, Special Agent Franklin, This is ridiculous! You're not following orders—"

"Relax, I just need to see how he reacts. If he knows something, I want him to trust me. I've worked long enough to know that I won't let myself slip like that."

Jody seems to have had enough and Bobby is just plan amused right now. "Elena," she says, "if he turns out to be with the people we're after—"

Elena snorts before Jody's even finished. "I think you should listen to Agent Singer on that one. Sam's innocent."

"How do you know that?"

" _Please_ ," she replies. "He's falling apart all the time." She lowers her voice. "If someone's _not_ bombing us, it's him."

"And you're sure, after a few days of being undercover, and so _sloppily_ undercover, that it's not all an act."

"Yeah, no, he was puking up his lunch and having a panic attack this afternoon because his dad's been dead four years," Elena replies. There is something about her face, something that denotes she _knows_ , and Bobby feels his heart sink a little. "Pretty sure he's not stable enough to assemble bombs."

"You never know—"

"I _know_ , okay?" Elena snaps, and Jody blinks at her, taken aback. Elena is instantly guilty at her retort and she bows her head, tucking her hair behind her ears. "Sorry," she whispers. "But I know. And the only way my undercover job will be useful is if I can have his trust and find out if he knows anything about Agent Winchester. Just go with me on this, Jody. If he's with… you know, _those_ people, _I_ will be the one who's dead and you're not losing anything."

"Are you kidding me? I can't put you at risk like that. I do have _everything_ to lose!"

"It's just a statement," Elena replies, scoffing. "I can take care of myself."

Jody takes a moment to recover. "Okay," she says. "I'll take your word for that but if it gets dangerous—"

"You'll know," says Elena. "Now before too many people from my class see me around I should leave."

"Yes," Jody tells her. "We'll let you know the outcome—go see if you get any intel on the bombing for now."

"I'll get back to you on that," Elena replies. She gives them a mock salute and leaves, walking away with her hands back in her pockets. Bobby stares after her for a bit until Jody taps his arm and gestures him towards the offices.

"So is this how your JTTF is? Unprofessional and wasted? Jesus, no wonder they wanted me here," Bobby states to Jody as she leads him into an empty room, locking the door behind them and checking for cameras. Thankfully, there are none.

"She's one of the appointed agents who's working the case with me," says Jody. "She's good. And so is the JTTF."

"I know she's good. I've seen her before. But that doesn't mean your task force is. And you? You're using her to investigate Sam Winchester." Bobby still can't believe this. "You've been appointed this goddamned rabid case and you're wasting your agents on that boy."

"To investigate the _Winchesters_. Both," says Jody. "Look, Bobby, we know it was an inside job. This is serious. We have to start somewhere even if it isn't much."

"And you're doing it seriously, how? Like I said, if that's how Elena is going undercover with her real job out in the open for Sam to see, not even following your orders, and if you're somehow, in some deluded sense, right about Sam or Dean being terrorists, she is _dead_. We've been after the Demons for ages. We haven't had contact from Agent Tran for months and she might be dead too. Ya think your piss-poor undercover job is good enough if Sam and Dean are really working for 'em?"

Jody sighs. "She'll do her job, Bobby, I trust her."

"Yeah, I just saw how much you trust her. And you're her damned SAC for what? I thought you were better than this, Jody. She give no shits about listening to you and you're okay with that?" He is, very honestly, surprised. They used to be partners a few years ago and she is one of the best he's been paired to work with. They were always on the top of things, no matter what. He can't believe she's blundered so badly right now.

"I do know her," Jody snaps at him. "Don't make me out to be an idiot. I know I didn't approve of her methods sometimes but she does things her own way and she still gets everything done the way it has to be. She _is_ one of our best. And if I see something wrong I will fire her and put someone else up for it, but as of now she is able to talk to Sam and connect with him."

Bobby rubs the top of his head and plops down on the doctor's chair with a sigh. Jody follows, seating herself across him. Bobby leans forward on the table. "That man you caught the other day…"

"We had the bombs defused," Jody replies. "But obviously there were more. I knew there was something Alastair was hiding."

"Alastair?"

She nods. "Full name is Dr Alastair Rogers. He's inner circle. He used to be a paediatrician in Minnesota. We were lucky to catch him. He has a history of drug trade and was arrested for the murder of his brother. They released him for the lack of evidence."

"The media doesn't know, does it? And the first terrorist attack was in Minnesota. This ain't no coincidence."

"The Minnesota Supreme Court, yes," Jody agrees. "The media doesn't know yet, thank God. Or imagine the panic." She stares away, drumming her fingers against the oak table. "We need to interrogate Alastair some more. He's already in high-security and we've kept an eye on him to stop him from contacting his colleagues."

"That's good."

"We're looking for more of them," says Jody. "If he's here it's unlikely he is alone. There has to be more."

"Hmm." Bobby leans back in his chair. "The Demons though. I don't get why they're here," he says. "They were based in Texas last we knew, and we got regular updates from Linda even after Mary died."

"Why are you even asking me this, Bobby, I'd have thought it was obvious."

"If you're going to put this on Sam and Dean again—"

"I'm not," Jody tells him. "I'm not putting it on them but their mom… maybe she told them something."

"Those boys would come to me if she did. They ain't stupid."

"True," Jody replies, eyes roving over to meet his. "Or she told them not to tell you either."

**~o~**

An orderly comes over to fetch Sam and Dean before Cas's ex-wife and daughter reach the hospital. Dean grumbles that he has to take the wheelchair and Sam walks next to him, dazed, and things look pretty hinky until they see who's in the little office that they're led into.

"Bobby?!" Sam pipes up, sounding excited for the first time in six months and Dean finds himself grinning when Bobby gets up from his chair in the doctor's office.

"Nice to see you, ya idjits," he says, giving them a bear hug each. Dean hugs him back with as much conviction as he can, clinging, because Bobby is the only familiar thing to happen to him ever since their mom died and Sam lost his fingers. Bobby is the old times, when he'd come home and talk for hours with John and Mary and Sam would show him his books and Dean, his toy car collection. The guy who babysat them sometimes when their parents were away and made the best chili and banana bread. Bobby is a part of that happy past which Dean never expected to see again.

He's in a suit though, so Dean knows this is official and that they won't be drinking whiskey after their talk. Dean isn't supposed to have whiskey right now anyway, disgustingly enough.

Next to Dean, Sam seems to be averting his eyes from Bobby and Dean knows why. They haven't spoken in years.

However, Bobby doesn't notice Sam's stiffness and hesitance when he gestures to the other lady in the room, who's in a pantsuit. He mutters something to them about the woman, and Dean sighs.

"Ya gotta be louder, Bobby, our ears are busted," he replies.

Bobby's eyes widen. "Jesus, boy," he replies, louder this time, and clearer. "I'm sorry about that. I said, this is Special Agent Jody Mills. We used to be partners."

"Sam can't hear either, by the way," Dean adds, and raises a palm at the other agent. "Hey."

She nods at them curtly, pushing her chair back to let Sam take the other one as Dean wheels forward. He muffles a groan at his painful ribs and hopes for the good stuff that can put him to sleep once he's out of his room. Beside him, Sam's fidgeting with his right hand already, massaging his stubs, and Dean realises the phantom pain is either bad or getting there.

Sam needs to take it easy. If he winds up any further he is probably going to have a meltdown. And Dean would normally be there for him, but today is not Dean's day either.

"First things first," Bobby says, getting Dean to snap out of his reverie. "There's some stuff I need to hand over to you two." He reaches for his bag and pulls out two plastic bags. "We had these in evidence. Found them on your mom but we wanted to see if we could work something out of it."

Dean reaches for the bags, one containing a gold locket that he had never seen and the other, an envelope. "What is this stuff?"

"The locket is just your pictures, you and Sam. The letter is for you too."

"As in—?"

"Read it when you got time," Bobby tells him gently.

Dean swallows a lump in his throat. "Mom knew she was dying?"

"We can't discuss that, Dean," Bobby tells him. "Did she try to call you or contact you before she—?"

Dean presses his lips together, shutting his eyes. "No."

_Dean's home early from the garage today, and unwinding in his boxers in front of the TV with a beer when he hears the knocks at the door. It's Halloween and kids are probably trick or treating and he's got the candies in a bowl so he starts to find his t-shirt so he can open the door. However, he stops when the knocks repeat, loud and frantic, making him realise that this is something else._

_Dean mutes the TV, putting his sweaty bottle down as he finally finds the damned t-shirt._

_"_ _I'll be right there," he calls out, frowning as he makes his way to the door. The knocks repeat another time. "Yes, yes!" Dean gets to the door and looks through the peephole only to be startled by the sight outside. "Mom?!"_

_He's opening the door the next moment and Mary stumbles into his arms, holding on for dear life. Her clothes are rumpled, eyes tired, hair askew and dyed brown. She's just holding on to him, not uttering a word, still and silent, and he has to lean close to make sure she's still breathing._

_He shuts the door but she doesn't budge. "Mom." Dean puts his lips to her greasy hair. "What's going on, what's wrong?" His voice is shaky, his stomach churns and he wishes she'd just talk already, because he is scared to bits._

_She doesn't say anything. She just pulls away, pushing her hair back, and she's smiling widely. "Sweetheart," she says, "will you take care?"_

_He doesn't know what to say except, "Of-of course… are you okay?"_

_"_ _I am," she says. "Talk to Sammy, okay?"_

 _"_ _About what?"_

 _"_ _Just go to Stanford," she says. "Talk to him." She takes a step forward, taking Dean's hands. "Will you do that, baby?"_

 _"_ _Y-Yes… I— can you come…?"_

 _"_ _No, but you should go."_

 _"_ _Okay." Dean's eyes prickle. "You're scaring me."_

_She blinks up at him, eyes kind and loving, face tired but somehow ecstatic, and she reaches forward to cup his cheeks. "Don't be scared," she tells him. "I have to go now."_

_"_ _No—"_

 _"_ _Go talk to Sam."_

_Her hands are off him, making him feel lonely and empty and he nods as she walks back to the door. "Okay." He watches her shut it behind her, and whispers to himself. "Okay."_

_Two days later when Dean's at Palo Alto trying to talk to Sam in a bar, Sam's apartment catches fire. Sam somehow escapes everyone holding him back and runs into the building to save Jess, but he loses his fingers too. Dean brings him back out and tries not to break down as he yells at an unconscious, badly burned Sam for being this damned stupid._

_It's not even a day later when Bobby calls him to say that Mary is dead._

"Dean?" Bobby's voice is loud but calm and Dean shakes out of his memories to face him, when he feels the wetness on his cheeks. He ducks his head, swiping at his eyes with the back of his palm, but Bobby's hand is on his shoulder. "You two should get some rest. I can't imagine what today's been like."

Dean looks at Sam, eyes now dry, and Sam seems like he needs something to knock him out too.

"Yeah," Dean says, "we both need to sleep a week."

"Good. Go get that rest."

He snorts. "I wish."

"I'm going to be around," says Bobby. "I'm now at the Sacramento office and we're taking these attacks seriously. So if you got anything, need to have a beer, just call. That good?"

"Yeah." Dean nods, then sniffs. "Thanks, Bobby."

"Don't worry about it. I'll fetch you an orderly."

"Cool."

Dean looks away, concentrating on the packages Bobby just gave him, feeling the thick plastic as he ignores Jody's scrutinising looks. He ignores Sam too, Sam who is incredibly pale right now, whose chin is quivering like he is going to fall apart, and he ignores everything, even the fact that he just lied through his teeth to the freaking FBI.

**~o~**

Jody watches the Winchester boys walk away, calculating their reactions in her mind. She doesn't know what to think. Elena sounds right about Sam's nervousness but Dean… Dean looked like he was hiding something, but Jody is not sure what.

Bobby closes the door behind him as an orderly takes the Winchesters back and plops down on his chair, palm rubbing at his head. Jody's phone chooses that moment to vibrate.

It's a text from one of her other agents, Norman, and when she reads it, something clenches inside of her. "Shit."

Bobby looks up. "What happened?"

Jody holds up her phone so she can see Norman's text. "Alastair escaped," she whispers, and the shudder that wracks her body makes her realise just how much she hadn't expected that.


	8. Aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And... a new chapter! Thank you so much for being patient with me, and for the 100 kudos! :)
> 
> Also, just need to say, this fic has no major character deaths. Minor characters, yeah, but no Sam, Dean or Cas. So yeah, it ends happy. <3 I know I'd not confirmed this before but it's a bad, bad time right now and we could all do with some hope. I had not planned on killing them anyway. This story is hard enough on them. 
> 
> Thank you to **DarcyDelaney/Allison** and **iamremy/Naila** for the beta and **Sanjy/SPNxBoonworm** and **Ellen/Lennelle** for the constant support. And you guys, for sticking with me through my erratic updates!

 

Cas is already asleep when Sam and Dean get back after meeting Bobby, with no signs of either his ex-wife or his child in the vicinity. It's kind of a bummer because Dean had been hoping to meet Amelia and Claire, but he reckons he'll end up seeing them at some point, and decides not to think of it with the fuckload of other things in his life right now. Plus, Cas is probably tired and hurting.

Sam curls up in his armchair and starts staring at his hands the moment Dean is settled in his bed, and Dean wants to ask him to go back home and get some sleep, but he knows Sam won't agree. So he watches Sam fiddle with his fingers, with the upholstery on the armchair, with the TV remote, and he waits and waits for someone to pull him away from his own damn thoughts and spare him from this hell, until he can't anymore.

Before Dean can say anything, though, Sam's getting to his feet. "I'm going back home."

Dean feels his eyebrow arch. "Are you?" He hadn't expected that.

Sam collects his coat. "Yeah." He clears his throat, heading to the door like he needs to be out of here right now. "Say hey to Cas when he wakes up."

"Are you gonna be okay by yourself?" Dean asks after his brother, but Sam's already left and he can't hear Dean from that distance anymore. So Dean eyes the locket and the letter on his bedside table, both of which he and Sam haven't had the courage to look through yet, and he leans back against his bed, swallowing down whatever he'd wanted to say to Sam.

**~o~**

Cas wakes up in the middle of the night. He takes in a sharp breath, blinking, squinting at the curtain that's drawn between him and Dean. He can hear very soft sounds from the other side, probably the TV, and he stares at the ceiling as he tries to listen to whatever it is that Dean's watching. He can't hear, though, and he hates it. He isn't going to get used to his hearing loss anytime soon.

He remembers falling asleep a few minutes after Sam and Dean left the room. Amelia had called stating that there had been a news broadcast urging people to stay home until all threats were confirmed as having been neutralised—she wouldn't be able to make it. He had agreed. He doesn't want her or Claire anywhere near this.

He lies there, trying to get back to sleep. There is absolutely no indication that Sam's with them, though Cas has no doubt he's behind that curtain, too, probably just fast asleep.

Cas shifts uncomfortably in his bed and scratches at his NG tube bandage again. Then, unable to take it anymore, he clears his throat. "Dean."

His voice comes out hoarse, scratchy and low, and he doesn't think Dean heard him. At least, he didn't hear Dean respond— _God, this is frustrating_. He tries to cough the hoarseness out of his voice. "D-Dean?" he calls out, louder.

The TV switches off. "Cas?"

Cas smiles. "How are you feeling?"

"Aces," Dean scoffs. "You?"

"Like I have a mild laceration in my spleen," Cas jokes. He's not a very jovial person—very few people find him funny, but he finds himself laughing a little at his own wit.

Dean doesn't reply for a bit. Then, in a very serious voice, "Enlightening."

"What?"

"Never mind."

"I was joking," Cas replies. "You know when you ask someone after an accident how they're doing, and—"

"Are you kidding me?" Dean sounds exasperated. "Cas, you really… damn, you're a weird little dude."

Cas tries not to smile again. "Does your head still hurt?" he asks instead.

"Considering I have a concussion, yeah, a little." Dean lets out a long, weary sigh. "Did you see your ex and kid?"

"No."

"Why?"

"It was not safe for them to be outside."

"Oh." Cas hears Dean's sheets ruffling. He adjusts his own.

"Dean."

"Yeah, Cas."

"Do you feel pain anywhere else? Your head, what degree of—"

"Dude, stop doctoring me and just be a damn patient," Dean interrupts. "I'm cool, okay? I got a call button and everything."

"Is Sam okay?"

"I hope so," Dean says. "He went home."

Cas traces the shapes on the ceiling with his eyes and shuts them briefly when he finds himself getting dizzy. He hadn't expected Sam to have gone home. "How come?"

"He's…" Dean sighs. "I don't know, man. I don't know how to make him feel better today, okay? It's been a fucked-up day for all of us, and most of all for him."

"I understand."

Dean snorts. "Do ya?"

Cas shifts his throbbing ankle. The pain from various parts of his body is just mixing together and nauseating him now. "Yes," he says. "I am, after all, a father."

"Are you comparing Sammy with a teenager?"

"No, but Claire…" Cas presses his lips together. "She has trouble adjusting."

"Teens, man…"

"Don't say that," Cas replies as mildly as he can. He's met people who've insinuated to him in the past that sometimes Claire is difficult to handle because she's a teenager, but her problems have a lot more definition than that, and he hates it when people undermine what she has been through.

"I understand it is difficult to raise teenagers," Cas agrees, so as to not agitate Dean completely, "but I take Claire's problems seriously. I think, if people did not automatically assume that all teenagers are horrible, and listened, we could help more."

He hears Dean let out a breath. "When did you go from Dorky Doctor Dude to Dad of the Year?"

"You always manage to find a nickname for me, don't you?" Cas notes. He feels a smile form on his lips through the pain.

"It _is_ freaky, though," says Dean, "that somehow you kept your kid hidden from us. What else you got, man?"

"Nothing, I promise," Cas lies, thinking of slamming doors and his crying daughter. He lets out a breath. "Nothing." He remains silent for a heartbeat. The curtain at the slightly open window rustles with the light breeze. "Dean, regarding Sam…"

"Yeah, I get it, teenagers—"

"Listen," Cas asserts. "I know how you feel when you do everything for him and he seems ungrateful."

"Do you, now?"

Cas ignores him. "Your brother is anything but ungrateful, Dean."

"Why don't you let me decide that for myself? I've kinda known him almost twenty-three years more than you, you know. And it's _not_ like Claire. There's a lot more shit that's gone down, and we try not to fight, but stuff comes up." Dean pauses. "And… sometimes I don't think I do all I should."

"I assure you, you do all you can for him," says Cas. "But you are hostile to him sometimes."

"Have you seen Sammy and _his_ hostility? 'Cause boy—"

"He needs support and patience."

"Thank you, Dr Phil. I think we talked about this before we were all blown up."

Dean's nicknames are rather jarring, but Cas feels like he's going to have to get used to them. He shudders at the mention of the blast, though. "You said you would tell me why he's not taking his medication anymore," he says, prodding at Dean.

"Yeah, and I changed my mind. Unless you're a shrink yourself. Are you?"

"No."

"Then you can't do shit about it."

Cas sighs. "Be reasonable."

"Oh, come on," Dean growls, and Cas hears his fist slam against the bed railing. "I am reason-fucking-able. And you know what, you still know shit about me and Sammy, so screw you."

"Maybe you should tell me about it, then. You are clearly struggling, Dean."

"Yeah?" Dean lets out a bitter laugh. "Where do I start? My mom was a hero. My dad turned into a paranoid bastard after a bad mission that almost took her away from us. Sammy wanted to go to college. He and Dad fought. Dad died. Sam left anyway. Shit happened. That's what you wanna know?"

"Your mother…?"

"She worked with the FBI," Dean says. "She worked with the damn FBI and died on the job, okay? They won't tell me and Sam the whole thing, I don't even know. All I know is, I hadn't spoken to Sam in four fucking years and when I came here to talk, the next thing that happens is that his apartment catches fire, he loses his girlfriend and a part of his hand and hey, that wasn't even the worst thing.

"The morning after, when I was fucking waiting at the damned burn centre and hoping my brother didn't die, I got the news. Mom was dead, too."

Cas feels like someone dropped a weight on his chest. His mouth is slightly open in surprise but he forces it shut, a whole lot more than physical pain coursing through him as he understands the full implication of this for Sam, and then for Dean. It's no wonder Sam is how he is, and whatever shape he is in, he is still extremely brave.

"I know," Dean says from the other side, and his voice is wavering a little. "Fucking horrible story, right?"

"I'm sorry," is all Cas can say, and he wishes he could emphasise how deeply so he is. "You and Sam—you—"

"We're used to it," Dean tells him. "Almost six months now."

"Things will get better, Dean."

"Are you sure?"

"They always do."

"Yeah?"

"Yes."

"So my mom's gonna be back and Sammy's gonna be all fixed?"

Cas doesn't have an answer for that and suddenly it's very warm. He can feel sweat building up on his brow, his hospital gown sticking to him, and on the other side of the room, Dean makes a sniffing noise. "I'm gonna turn in."

"Good night, Dean."

Dean doesn't respond and Cas doesn't sleep after that.

**~o~**

"Should have pushed to rush the trial and tossed the fucker into supermax," Mills laments as she clutches the steering wheel of her car. Bobby is sitting in the passenger seat, contemplating their entire situation and thinking they might just need more than the Sacramento JTTF and his additional service for this one. The scenery around them is chaotic, people frantic and running, students everywhere, calling friends and relatives. The air is thick with the smell of panic and death: a combination Bobby hates, even though he should have been used to it by now.

Mills opens her glove compartment and fingers her gun. "You got anything to add?"

"To you regretting that you couldn't get him into supermax? No. But you're right." Bobby leans his elbow against the car window. "Your task force ain't clean. It has to have been one of them who busted him out if this was all so hush-hush."

"I need to weed them out, see which one is guilty," says Mills. "Not easy."

"I'm here to help," Bobby supplies, shrugging. "Gotta catch the bastard who did this." He scratches at his eyebrow. "Anyway. What ya got on the bombing so far?"

"Three bombs," Mills tells him. "All IEDs. Shrapnel, fire, the works. People in the rooms where they went off are either dead or severely injured. So far we got twenty-eight casualties."

"Popular student destinations?"

"Yeah," Mills replies. "A bar, a café, a diner."

"So why are they targetin' these college kids again?"

"Fuck if I know," says Mills. "Never could make sense of their first two attacks, either. There's no definite pattern to them happening. We know jack squat about the Lucifer guy who's running this entire operation and Alastair sure as fuck didn't open his mouth."

"So we got nada with a side of zilch," Bobby replies, undoing his seatbelt as Mills starts to park outside of the first place that was attacked. It's the bar. It's where Sam and Dean were, too, when the explosives went off.

"Not really," Mills tells him. "We haven't finished investigations." She finishes parking, grabs her gun, and gets out of the car in the next moment. Bobby is putting his gun in his holster when she walks to his side and bends over at the window. "I'm gonna crack this case wide open, Singer, and you can either help me or watch me do it."

She is already heading into the building by the time Bobby gathers his stuff, and he runs to catch up, swearing through gritted teeth. _"Balls!"_

**~o~**

"Sam."

Jess's whisper is hot against Sam's ear as he slips down the strap of her negligée to kiss her shoulder. She's holding him, her body pressed against his, feeling every kiss and touch, grasping onto his bare back as he works on her.

He moves up to kiss her neck and her jaw, her lips, tracing his tongue along the border, feeling her tongue against his. His other hand runs up the smooth skin of her thigh, finger drawing a slow line as he reaches under her panties.

She gasps, throwing her head back, nails digging into Sam's flesh as he continues to kiss her, teeth dragging over pliant lips, mouth catching folds of soft skin. He nibbles at her earlobe and she sighs. "S-Sam."

He's kissing her throat, slurping and nibbling, feeling her little grunts on his mouth as he strokes her, letting her quiver and tremble. "Oh God," she whispers, and he starts to descend, moving slower as he lifts her skirt and pulls on her panties until they're bunched at her knees, holding onto her hips as he leans between her legs.

She jerks at his touch, at his tongue and his lips—"Sam!"— and he grunts, moving in more, tasting her as she cries out, his tongue flicking, lips wet and sucking, again and again until he can't breathe… he can't breathe…

"Sam!"

It's _hot_. It's so hot. Smoke everywhere. It fills his lungs, clogs his throat. He coughs and it's black, all black as pain burns through his hand like his very flesh is being ripped off; like nothing he's ever experienced, and—

There's a hand on his shoulder. "Come on!" Sam turns around to see Dean. Fire. Fire all round. And Dean is pulling him away and pushing him out and Jess is gone and Sam's running, running, Dean behind him, until, until…

A blast.

Ambulances. Dean is gone. Cas stands there, holding his stomach and his blue eyes are pained, blood seeping from between his fingers. "I'm sorry, Sam," he says, "Dean is dead."

Dean is dead.

_Dean, Dean, Dean._

Sam sits up on his bed, burning pain shooting up his hand. The agony is astronomical, unbearable; his head throbs as he fumbles out of bed, looking frantically for Dean until it all hits him, everything that happened today, and that's when he realises he's still hard from his dream. About Jess.

Before he knows it he's bent over the kitchen sink, heaving up his meagre dinner, cold sweat trickling off every part of him, and when he's done, he still has the boner and his hand is still in excruciating pain, but he curls up on the kitchen floor, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood and keeping the tears away because he can't afford them right now.

Part of him wants to go right back to the hospital, to his brother, but if he has to see the letter and locket he's going to throw up again. He can't deal with this right now. He can't, he can't, he can't. He just needs some time. He just needs to catch his breath. He just needs to… needs to—

He sniffs, remembering Jess's hands on him, her kisses, her voice, her eyes, and he curls up further as he finally lets the tears take over in the darkness and the silence of his home.

**~o~**

Sam enters the hospital room the next morning, gaunt and pale with a cup of coffee and just about five minutes after Dean is taken for a scan. The curtains are open and a nurse is noting Cas's vitals when he comes in. Cas knows immediately when he takes a look at Sam that it's been a bad night for him, but he's not Dean, so he's not sure he can ask about it.

"Good morning, Sam," he says instead, letting the nurse draw blood as he watches Sam occupy the armchair next to his brother's bed.

Sam puts his coffee down and nods at him, not meeting his eyes. "Hey, Cas." He shrugs his jacket off and fingers the sleeve on his hoodie, running a thumb over his stubs. His hair is lank, he's pale, and he has dark bags under his eyes. Cas doesn't want to stare at him, but he can't get himself to look away.

He clears his throat. "Dean is better. He slept well. His head was not aching this morning. He's gone for an x-ray, I believe."

Sam nods, still not looking at Cas.

"We had a talk last night," Cas continues. "I am sorry about your mother, Sam. Dean told me. I know it seems like you can never get over the grief of losing her, but you will." He takes a breath. "I – I never got the happiness. Of actually knowing who my mother was, before I lost her. She suffered post-partum haemorrhage on delivering me. She did not survive it."

Sam's head snaps up immediately, eyes widening. "Cas, I'm sorry."

"My entire life, where I am today and everything you see about me, is because my family could not move on from my mother's death," Cas tells him, eyes going back to the ceiling. The designs on there are familiar now. He can trace each of them, even with his eyes shut. "She has always seemed like a dream to me. She is perfect, and I do not know what made her human."

Sam is silent and Cas can almost feel his stare burning at him, but he doesn't look back now. He doesn't want to make Sam uncomfortable. Cas's monitor beeps on, his arm stings from the needle prick, but it seems like time is standing still as he tries to quell the images of his mother with her long hair in her dresses—an image he hates, because Amelia taught him that mothers deserved a break. That they made mistakes and were human. That their love was not healing or curing or any of that fictional nonsense—it was just love, even if it was unconditional.

He hates that he doesn't know his mother as a person at all.

After a few long moments, the quiet is broken when Sam speaks again. "You said you pray."

Cas is still picturing his mother, but the images dissolve as he turns to Sam. He remembers being taken aback by that question a little yesterday because he did not know the Winchesters prayed. Dean never looked like the type and Sam… he doesn't _know_ Sam. But he answers without a beat of a doubt. "Yes, Sam, I did say that. I pray."

"Can you pray with me? Right now?" It's such a quiet, sweet request, Cas can't deny it.

"Of course."

Sam puts the coffee aside and clasps his hands, his fingerless one covered by the other, and he bows as he shuts his eyes. Cas copies him from his bed and when Sam's lips start moving, he shuts his eyes. Sam isn't praying out loud, not loud enough for Cas to hear anyway, but he thinks of everyone who lost someone yesterday, and people who did not die but lost parts of themselves to bad injuries, and for himself and his family and his two roommates who are clearly going through rougher times than they deserve. When he whispers _Amen_ and opens his eyes, Sam's finished praying, too, and is staring out the window.

Just one look at his tired face makes Cas want to sleep for an eternity. He yawns, and Sam fixes his gaze on Cas. "You should sleep," he says. "You look like you never got any last night."

Cas feels a smile forming on his lips. "I can say the same for you."

Sam grins back at him, light and fleeting, and then nods. "I'm used to it."

"And you underestimate a doctor's capacity of being used to it, too."

"You're a patient right now," Sam points out, "and you need to rest."

"Your brother reminded me last night that yes, I am, in fact, not the doctor in this scenario."

Sam pushes his hair back and chuckles as he picks his coffee back up. "Did he? And people say we don't seem related."

"They are clearly misguided," Cas agrees.

Sam lifts the cup to his mouth, and Cas can see it shaking in his hand as Sam sips at the coffee. There is a small breeze blowing in from the slightly open window beside him, though, and the rhythmic beeping of the monitor, along with the comfort of just having had a good conversation and prayer, are catching up with Cas just as much as his fatigue is.

When he can't fight it anymore, when he's in that zone between sleeping and waking, he hears Sam walk over to him and adjust his blanket so he's fully covered. He's seen Sam do it for Dean a lot and wants to thank him, but he's drifting into blackness before he can so much as open his mouth.

**~o~**

Dean is just freaking tired of the hospital already and is full-on ready to whine and complain to Cas as he's wheeled back to his room. He'd woken up feeling better today but they still apparently need him to stay for a few days and right now, he's just about ready to bust out of this damn place and never come back.

He'd slept well last night, Cas's words being the last thing he heard and his mom's belongings the things last he saw, and he'd dreamt of some of it but he can't remember what. All he knows is that, after about six months of this shit life he's been leading, trying to care for Sam and not be an ass and working all these jobs, Cas confirming that Dean is in fact doing what he can, was a comforting thing to hear.

And while the words were great coming from Ellen or Jo or Bobby, getting them from Cas, someone who barely knew their history, who was new in his life, was something different.

He never knew he needed this. And, okay, Dean will probably never believe he's done enough for Sam until Sam can fucking be _Sam_ again, but he just needed to know he hadn't fucked up. Not yesterday, which had to take the cake on the most fucked-up day of their lives, and not before that, when even waking up in the morning had been the biggest task.

So Dean lets the nurses get him back to his room, all happy to talk to Cas again, to have a friend who for once did not tell him things to make him feel better but spoke what he thought (and okay, Cas is kinda cute, too, but he's straight so Dean's never going to let _that_ come up).

Dean stays patient as they take him back, hoping Sam's doing all right because he didn't call. However, when he gets into the room his heart sinks because Cas is sleeping. It takes him another moment to realise Cas isn't the only one in the room.

Sam is curled up in the armchair, hood up and hands hidden inside his sleeves. He looks up at Dean entering, and Dean smiles at him. "Hey, Sammy."

"Hey," Sam replies. He looks awful and Dean knows that he either had a panic attack or a nightmare. Hopefully not both. He waits for the staff to help him back to the bed and gets himself readjusted.

"When did you get here?" he asks Sam as the orderlies leave.

"A while ago."

"You get breakfast?"

Sam nods at his coffee. "Yeah."

Dean sighs. "A real breakfast, Sammy."

"I… I don't need more than this." Sam looks away, hiding inside his big hoodie.

"Why?"

"No reason," says Sam. "Not hungry."

"Hey, you barely ate last night, either. If you think there might be something wrong with your stomach, you should—"

"I'm okay, Dean." Sam doesn't snap or get angry. He just sounds resigned.

Dean sighs. "Dude…"

"We should probably see the stuff Mom gave us," Sam tells him before he can say anything else. "Cas is sleeping, so he won't hear it anyway, and if we think something is up we ought to tell Bobby as soon as we can." He pauses, staring at his nails. "Cas said you guys spoke."

"Yeah," says Dean. "When you're stuck in a damn hospital, there ain't much else you can do."

"Did you tell him about Mom?"

"Just where she worked, not what she was doing when she died. I told him I don't know much, which is also the truth, but… yeah."

"Good, because I don't think we should talk about it with anyone but Bobby," says Sam.

"I know," Dean says. He stares at the letter and swallows. "Do you really wanna read it now?"

Sam shrugs. "It's as good a time as any. And like I said, it's probably best we do it sooner rather than later."

"Yeah, but… it's Mom's last letter," Dean reminds him. He knows he shouldn't question Sam's capability to handle this, but Sam's shaking and resigned and tired and his eye is twitching a little, so Dean knows that Sam's not taking it easy right now and in his experience, this is _not_ likely to end well. Sam does not need something to make him emotional on top of all this.

Beside him, Sam lets out a weary huff of breath. "I can take it, man."

"Are you—?"

"Please just do it, Dean."

Dean turns back to him and he's buried his face in his hands. And God, okay, he's about to read Mom's last fucking letter ever, and see what's up with that locket she's left behind and these two things… they're the last traces they have of Mom. That she existed. That… that she was ever in their lives.

"Dean."

Sam's voice is gentle, interrupting his thoughts. Dean looks up at his brother, who is staring at him intensely. "Are _you_ okay reading it now?" he asks.

Dean nods. "Yeah," he lies. He isn't supposed to be weak. After yesterday, he needs to be strong for Sam. For himself. He can't let himself crumble over this.

He reaches for the first bag, the letter, and his hands shake as he takes it out, his mother's familiar handwriting sending a knife through his heart. It's just a single page in an envelope, written on in the front and back.

He has to clear his throat and clench his hands to stop the shaking as he begins to read.

_Dean, Sam,_

_The biggest regret in my life has to be that I could somehow never get you two to talk and live to see it. The wall that seems to be between you two—your fighting and your anger, it bothers me, even today, even at this moment, and I wish I could get you two to reconcile even if it is with just this letter. Saying it in here is hard and telling you everything about what I feel for the two of you is even harder, but all I need you to know is that I will always love you and you will always be my children. To me, my Sam's as precious as my Dean and I could never discriminate, just like I couldn't when you were kids and you'd fight and ask me to take sides. You'd barge into my room and you'd complain about each other and I could never favour either of you because how do you choose between your two children?_

Dean turns the page around to read the rest of it, his heart, his body numb, and he can't even look at Sam right now. Sam hasn't said anything, not made a single noise since he started to read. So he continues, not sure where all this strength is even coming from.

_I did not want this to be my last letter, but it probably is, and you need to know that even now, I haven't taken sides. I'm not mad at either of you. We've all said things we didn't mean and I just want you to forgive each other. To be there and be strong and support one another if you need it. I know things are hard now that I'm dead. I know things were never easy for our family. But I also know that you can get through it. You two are stronger than you think, unbeatable when you're together, and if you need answers, remember I'm always here for you. This letter might not have it all but I want you to hold on. To this and to each other and to what we believed as a family. That we could fight anything._

_I will miss you two so very much._

_Love,_

_Mom_

The letter ends there and Dean holds onto it, trying not to crumple it with everything he's feeling right now, trying to keep his heartbeats steady. He wants to reach for the locket, but there is a sound beside him and he's just about gathered the courage to look when he sees Sam running out of the room. Dean's hand is already clasped around the bag with the locket but it falls back on the table with a loud _cluck_ , and he leans back down against his pillows as he tries to gain control of his own trembling breaths.


	9. Something

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jo comes home to visit Ellen and meets a special someone. Meanwhile, Sam, Dean and Cas deal with the repercussions of the bomb blast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, all, and thank you for making it to this chapter! This will be my last update for 2016, unless after December 27th I suddenly spring to life and write something, but mostly not. I am going to be in deep revision cave for a huuuuge exam so if I take a while to respond to reviews, please bear with me! I will reply.
> 
> Either ways, here is a big, new chapter. This one is a little shippy and not just for Destiel. I might have embarrassed myself by writing some sex and yeah... I tried haha. As usual, I have Allison/DarcyDelaney and Naila/iamremy to thank for making this readable, and my dear Sanj/SPNxBookworm and Ellen/lennelle for being ever supportive whenever I make cruel plans for Sammy.
> 
> Happy holidays, everyone! Take care!

** **

"Are you gonna talk, or did you just call me here so I could watch you sit on a bench?"

Sam shudders at Ruby's voice as he sits up straight, wringing his hands together. He's had a horrible couple of days and the letter was the icing on the cake, reminding him how much he'd fucked up by not contacting Dean or his mom. And he'd hoped to forget, hoped to let go of how horrible he'd been to his family for four years. Obviously, no one was going to let that happen anytime soon.

Not that he hopes to; he just wants to be forgiven.

He doesn't want to be a fuck-up anymore. He's been trying to reign himself in since the blast last night even though he lost it a couple of times. He's tried to take care of himself and not bother Dean and he's failed phenomenally at it, except, maybe, he managed not to stutter through his near-panic attacks. But Dean seems to know already that he's not doing well, and really, Dean needs all the care he can get right now. That's why Sam had come here. So he could deal with his shit by himself.

He needs to learn how to do this better. Pull himself together and clean up his mess. To stop being so vulnerable all the time. And the first step to all of this is talking to Ruby about what he saw yesterday at lunch. That she's FBI.

Beside him, Ruby sighs, fidgeting restlessly. "Hurry up, man, I don't have much time."

Sam grits his teeth, trying to control his eyelid from blinking. "Why don't you have time?" he asks her. "Classes have been cancelled."

"Yeah, and I have a life outside of that," she supplies. She stretches her prosthetic leg forward, resting her elbow on a wooden slat as she fully turns to him. "How are you today?"

"Fantastic."

"I can see that. Dean and your roommate?"

"Cas."

"Yeah. Cas. How are they?"

"Better." Sam takes a small breath. "Why don't you have time? Do you need to investigate, too?"

"Sam."

"You're FBI," he says. "You're undercover."

There is a beat of silence. "How did you know?" she asks him.

"Saw your ID. It fell out of your bag when were at the cafeteria yesterday."

She purses her lips, not meeting his eyes. "Bummer."

"What's your real name?" Sam asks her.

"You didn't see it on the badge?"

"I thought you needed a false identity to go undercover," Sam tells her. "What kind of an agent are you? You didn't even change your name."

She laughs easily, hair falling on her face as she bends forward. She brushes the dark strands back, turning to look at Sam. "A crappy one, obviously, since you figured it out."

"I'm gonna talk to Bobby about this."

"Yeah, sure," Ruby says, "you do that, Sammy."

"Only my brother calls me that."

She doesn't reply. Sam grits his teeth, shaking his sleeve over his aching hand. He doesn't know what more to say, except he doesn't trust her anymore, and she was the only person in school for the last few weeks that he was barely able to communicate with. His heart hurts at the thought of the fact that she was never a friend.

"You know," Ruby says, eyeing a couple that passes them with a newborn in the woman's arms, "I am not here to investigate _you_."

He laughs. "Right."

"Your mom died on the job— _this_ job—"

"My mom died in Texas," says Sam. "This is Palo freaking Alto. What has this place got to do with it, except me and Dean being her sons and living here?"

"A lot more than you think," she says. "You should have figured that out last night."

"So you knew that was going to happen?"

"You know I can't confirm that with you, right?"

He clenches his fist. "Whatever."

It's getting warm now, sunrays starker and brighter, and the hoodie presses itself to Sam's skin as it clings to his sweat. He uses his sleeve to wipe his forehead and thinks about what Ruby just said. It still doesn't make sense.

"But… you must have been expecting _something_ , right? Seeing you've been undercover ever since the start of the quarter. And you're investigating someone or something in Stanford."

"I can't tell you what we're up to."

"But it's got something to do with Dean and me."

Ruby snorts, her hair catching the glint of the sunlight as she turns away. She tucks a couple of flyaway strands behind her ear and takes in the sunlight, face lifted skyward. "Not everything is about you and your brother."

"Why did you befriend me, then?" The pain in Sam's hand shoots up a notch and he takes a sharp breath. "You'd have known me. You'd have known how my mom died."

"I did," Ruby says. "Being friends with you doesn't have anything to do with whatever I'm looking into. I hate most people, but, you know, you're kinda hard to hate. You were also a familiar face when I first saw you. We have some stuff in common. And…" she shrugs, "I know I'm supposed to be a tough cop or whatever, but it's nice to make friends. I'm _always_ doing my job and I get tired, too."

Sam doesn't know what to say to that, or whether he should be flattered at all. He pulls his hoodie closer despite the heat, and glances at Ruby's face. She's looking back at him earnestly, arms crossed, a sheen of sweat dotting her face. "You're not going to tell anyone, are you, Sam?" she asks him. "This has got nothing to do with you, okay? I'm just doing my own shit and you don't need to worry or get involved."

"I'm telling Dean," Sam replies. "He needs to know."

He half expects her to roll her eyes, but she shakes her head. "Only if he won't blab to that roommate of yours."

"Who, Cas? No, we won't tell him."

"Or Bobby, or Jody," Ruby presses on. Sam realises she wasn't as cool as she pretended to be when he threatened to tell Bobby. He wonders what else she's good at hiding.

"No, we won't tell them, either."

She stares into his eyes for a moment, then looks away and nods. "Let's get breakfast. You look like you haven't had anything in a while."

"How do you—?"

"I know a lot of things about sleepless nights and panic attacks and nightmares," she tells him. "They throw around a fun term for it, you know, when you're in the military. It's called PTSD. Except… It's _not_ fun." Her eyes go down to Sam's hands, where he's massaging his stubs with his good palm. "I know that all the exercises and Advil in the world can't help with the pain sometimes."

"Yeah?" he asks her. "What do you do when yours is bad?"

She smirks at him. "You don't want to know."

He wonders what else is new, and hopes she is not about to lie to him once again.

**~o~**

Dean is startled out of staring at the curtain between him and Cas by a familiar voice in his ears. _"So if you're not hitting on that cute roommate of yours, can I?"_

"Holy—!" He flinches, almost hurling himself out of the bed before he realises that it's Jo. He turns around to face her, glaring. "Dude! Not cool!"

She throws her hands up in surrender. Her face is pale and tired in the soft morning light, hair in a messy ponytail. "You scare easy, Winchester," she says, shaking her head. "And I'm not a dude."

He watches her put down her bag as she grabs a seat next to him. "No, seriously," he says, "don't do that again. I'm fucking partially deaf from the damned blast."

"Really?"

"Yeah, really. Didn't you see your mom? Me and Cas and Sammy—we're all a little deaf right now."

"Mom's high on pain meds," Jo replies. "And she's not woken up yet because of the surgery, you know. So no idea if she's deaf."

"She doing better?"

"She's stable. She's gonna be fine, too. Just… you know, banged up some. She had a brain bleed, an _extradural haematoma_ or something but luckily for her, that was the least risky of all the kinds of brain bleeds she could have, so…" She shrugs as her voice breaks and she looks away, blinking rapidly.

Dean takes a sharp breath, reaching for her hand. "Ellen's going to be fine, Jo. She's tough."

She gives him a watery smile, sniffing back tears. "Well, yeah, but when I think…"

"Don't."

"You were there," she says, and her voice trembles. "God, you guys—" She's moving forward to pull Dean into a hug, but he raises a hand to her shoulder, stopping her as gently as he can.

"My ribs are busted, so I'm gonna take a raincheck on that one."

Her jaw falls slightly and her palm brushes the skin underneath her eyes. "You're pretty fucked up, Winchester," she says in a weak voice, sniffling again.

He tries to look away, remembering how much he hates seeing her cry, but he can't. Instead, he shrugs. "Better than a lot of other people, you know. Me, Sam, Cas, your mom—all of us. We were lucky."

Her face falls. "Yeah."

There is a beat of silence. Dean eyes the curtain again. Cas is in there talking to his own friends, Anna and her sister Charlie, and Dean wonders if he'll meet Amelia and Claire today after all.

It's funny. He really wants to know who Cas's family is, and he has this thirst, this _need_ to find out more about Cas. And not just the big things like the fact that he was married once, and has a kid. The other things about Cas, like, like…

"Earth to Dean?"

Jo's voice cuts through his thoughts and he watches her cross one leg over the other as she leans back in her chair. "Where's Sam gone off to?"

"No idea," Dean huffs. He glances at the bedside table, which is now empty. He put the locket and letter in the drawer once he realised he couldn't bear to look at it anymore.

"Do you want me to find him?" Jo offers. "I mean, I know—"

"He needs some air," Dean tells her. "He's okay."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, I'd – I'd know if he wasn't."

"How?"

Dean shrugs. "He just calls me these days, you know, if he needs help. He's not like he used to be… I guess you know that, though, you've been here for it all."

The sadness in her eyes deepens and she shifts her gaze to the curtain that Dean was staring at. "So tell me about your new crush," she says, the clouds from her eyes lifting a little.

Dean narrows his eyes. "What crush?"

"You know, your roommate." Jo grins, winking. "Cas. _Doctor_ Cas Novak."

"What? How did—" Dean glances back at the curtain, lowering his voice. "How d'you know his name?"

"So you _do_ have the hots for him."

Dean shakes his head vigorously. "No!"

"That's a lot of denial for a simple question."

"No, I don't… I'm not freaking _crushing_ on anyone, okay? I'm not some… teenage boy."

"Except you're literally pink right now, so…"

Dean feels warmth rise up his cheeks at just the mention of it. "Shut up. How do you even know anything about him?"

" _Mom_ told me you keep gushing about him, silly," Jo drawls, twirling a strand of her hair. "And, you know, Facebook."

"Cas is on Facebook? And you're spying on me?" Dean is not sure what surprises him more.

"He's more tech-savvy than you, I guess."

"No. Dude's a dork. No way he knows shit about Facebook."

"Forget that," she says. "So you like him?"

"No," Dean hisses. "And you're free to hit on him. I mean, he definitely needs to get laid—"

The curtain opens just then and Dean stops talking, glancing at the other side where Anna is still speaking to Cas. Her sister, however, steps into Dean's space, sunlight creating a halo around her short red hair. She's wearing jeans and plaid with a novelty t-shirt, face thin, and lips stretched into a wide smile as she flashes them a Vulcan salute. "Hey!"

Jo immediately sits up straight and Dean struggles with words for just a moment. "Hey?"

"I'm Charlie," she says, extending her hand to Dean. "You must be Dean. Heard a lot about you from Cas."

Dean ignores Jo clearing her throat as he shakes hands with Charlie, and then he watches her approach Jo and do the same.

"You're not Sam," Charlie says. "Or you _are_ Sam, and I just imagined Sam to look different and—"

Jo shakes hands with Charlie, amused. "Jo. Do you study at Stanford?"

"Yeah," Charlie says. "CSE. Do I know you?"

"No, but you might know my mom." They're still holding hands, and there is an awkward moment as Jo lets go. "Ellen Harvelle?"

"Oh, wow, Ellen's your mom? Man, I loved that bar." Charlie's face falls. She crosses her arms. "How's she doing? I'm sorry about the blast."

"Me, too," says Jo. "But Mom's better now, so…"

"I'm glad," Charlie tells her. "Where do you go to school?"

"San Francisco," Jo replies. "Not that far off."

"Yeah. Yeah, that's awesome! What do you study? I mean, I do love San Francisco, you know, with the—"

"Charlie?"

"What?" She turns around, and Dean watches as Anna comes forward with her hands in her pockets.

"I have to go," Anna says. "Break's done. You going to stay here?"

"No." Charlie gets to her feet immediately. "I mean, I'd love to, but assignments, so…"

"Let's get going, then," Anna tells her. "They need to get some rest, too. Dean and Cas."

"Yeah, probably, sorry." Charlie grins at Jo, then turns over to go pull Cas into a gentle hug. He lets her, smiling, and Dean meets eyes with him for a moment before he focusses back on Charlie and Anna.

"So we'll see you," Anna tells them, waving at Cas and then Dean. "Let the nurses know if you need anything."

Dean gives her a thumbs-up. "Cool. Thanks." He turns to Jo, who's staring at Charlie, slightly slack-jawed. "You got anywhere to be, Jo?"

Jo blinks, fumbles for her bag, and Charlie is about to walk out the door when she finally gets to her feet. "Hey, Charlie, wanna grab a coffee?"

Charlie stops, as does Anna, who shakes her head, amused, and walks out the door. Jo slings her bag over her shoulder, waiting for an answer and after an excruciating moment, Charlie nods. "I'd love to!"

"I'll – I'll see you in five minutes at the cafeteria," Jo tells her, relief punctuating her voice, and Charlie winks and leaves the room. Once she's out, Jo looks at Dean, appalled. "I can't believe I fucking did that."

Dean chuckles, then raises a hand to rub his eyes. "Yeah, me neither."

"I believe that does take a lot of tact, yes," says a third voice, and Dean and Jo both turn to Cas, who seems to be analysing the situation with narrow eyes.

Dean shakes his head. "Jo, this is Cas. Cas, Jo."

Jo hurries over to the other side of the room to meet Cas. "Hey," she says, shaking his hand. "I hope Winchester's nice to you."

"He is very kind," Cas tells her, way too earnestly, and Dean has to look away because his cheeks are warm again.

"Kind, huh?"

"Yes."

Jo turns to Dean, raising both eyebrows, and Dean burrows himself deeper into his blankets. "I should get going," she says. "Don't wanna make Charlie wait too long, you know."

She comes back and places a kiss on Dean's temple before leaning in to whisper in his ear. "He's cute, Winchester. You can have him. I have a girl I need to bang like a bunny in heat tonight."

Dean glares at her and then smiles as he watches her leave with a spring in her step.

**~o~**

Jo doesn't have to wait for the night to kiss Charlie in a supply closet. Coffee had been excruciating and she could hardly stand Charlie's smile or the light flashing from her red hair or her eyes or her fingers brushing against Jo's when they reached for the same triangle of the dry turkey sandwich.

Charlie's foot was soon entering Jo's trouser leg (thank God for boot-cut jeans). There was a sparkle in her eye and Jo knew she'd explode if she sat like this any longer. Coffees abandoned, they had found the nearest private area, which was, sadly, a cramped closet.

Jo sighs, leaning against a shelf of bandages, letting Charlie's lips cover hers as she slides a hand underneath her t-shirt, feeling goosebumps over softness. Charlie's teeth drag against Jo's lower lip and Jo rests her foot on a ledge, pulling her closer so that Charlie can grind against her thigh while Jo reaches up further to get to Charlie's bra.

Charlie grunts and tongues at Jo's earlobe, her nipples erect when Jo finds them. She traces circles, thumbs dragging on skin, and Charlie moans, going down to suck at the spot beneath Jo's ear, then lower, and her jaw, leaving trails of saliva, her breaths warm and heavy as she rocks against Jo's thigh. She reaches Jo's neck, lips working to make bruises, getting Jo to shudder as her body tingles with bursts of sweet pleasure and pain. She gasps, drags her fingers back to Charlie's spine, feeling her quiver excitedly and letting her grind faster and faster as she bites her lip to keep in her own cries. She can feel the sweat trickle down her back, her breaths stuttering with heightened sensation, nerve synapses buzzing as she peaks, and Charlie moans a low, purring moan when—

There is a loud knock at the door. _"Who's in there?"_

Charlie gasps, pulling away, and Jo straightens up, eyeing the door as she brings a hand to her mouth for a brief moment. Charlie is reaching behind to quickly hook up her bra and Jo collects herself, straightening her clothes, running her hands through dishevelled hair, watching Charlie do the same.

The knocks come back and they look at each other before nodding and opening it, only to see a confused janitor outside. Charlie smiles at him. "Hey! W-We were just, uh…"

"Y-Yeah," Jo gives him a smile as she grabs Charlie's hand to get the fuck out of there, sprinting, almost running, until she bumps into something big. She jumps back, blinking, and—

 _"_ _Sam!"_

He looks just as confused and startled to see her, not to mention utterly defeated and tired, too. There is a woman with him, really pretty, and she crosses her arms over her chest as Sam gives Jo a little smile. "Hey! When did you get here?"

"This morning," Jo tells him. She turns to her partner. "Th-this is Charlie."

"Cas's friend? No way!" The cheerfulness in his voice is fake enough that Jo is a little worried for him.

"Yeah!" she says. "I, uh, we've got stuff to do, Sam, we—"

"Sure," he says. "This is Ruby." He points at his own companion.

Jo waves at the other woman. "Hey!" She directs her glance to Sam. "Not fair, Sam, Dean never said you had a girlfriend and—" She stops when his face drains of all remaining colour. Jo feels her eyes widen. "Sam, sorry, I…"

He nods, the fake cheer having disappeared as he looks away. 'That's okay. I'll see you around."

Jo glances at Charlie and Ruby and lowers her voice. "Are you gonna be all right?"

"Yeah," he says, not sounding very convincing. His eyes are glassy, but then he takes one look at Charlie and smiles again. "Get out of here, Jo. I'm good."

She grins at him. "See you around, Winchester."

He winks back. "You too."

**~o~**

Dean and Cas take a bit to get discharged from the hospital and even then, somehow, Dean never manages to meet Cas's family. He's away at a scan when they come by, and then they don't come over after that at Cas's anxious instructions to stay safe. Eventually Cas gets discharged, followed by Dean, and since Dean can't work at the garage with his broken ribs and arm in a cast, he has to stay home. It's frustrating at best.

Their ears are healing slowly but steadily. Dean can hear a little better now, as can Sam and Cas, and they know it won't go back to what it was for a few weeks now, but at least they're getting used to being a little deaf. It had been very frustrating initially at the hospital—still is—and Dean has newfound respect for deaf people at this point.

He, Sam, and Cas make a point to visit Ellen regularly, who woke up two days after the blast and is steadily doing better with each day, already talking about getting the bar redone because she, like Dean, doesn't seem to entertain the idea of sitting at home, either. Dean knows why. Sitting idle means thinking, and thinking often goes back to revisiting that day. The only thing to keep away the thoughts and memories is work. _Work, work, work._

Jo gets Ellen home a few days later and even at Ellen's absolute reluctance to let Jo stay on with her, Jo takes extended leave from school so she can be around for Ellen's recovery. After some time, Ellen stops complaining and just lets Jo do what she has to.

The heaviness and grief that lingered in the air from the bomb blasts slowly recedes as people start trying to go back to their routines, but Dean doesn't think anyone can ever get it off them—off their skin. Everyone's pretending to smile, that they can go on just fine, but Dean watches it haunt each and every person who was in town that night.

He knows Cas feels the same way, too. On the first day that Cas gets back to work, ten days after the blast, he happens to chance upon a couple of people who were injured that night, both of them in bad enough conditions that he enters the apartment shell-shocked, unable to talk. Dean makes him tea and sits with him quietly, the TV running in the background as white noise. They've been sitting together at this time ever since the accident, but that day is different, the silence between them thicker and more palpable. For the first time in his life, Dean doesn't have to talk or ask to know what's going on, and he finds comfort in it.

Dean follows all the news updates to discover that thirty-one people died in total, and that doesn't make him feel better. He also waits for Bobby to call, tell him something about all of this, but even when Bobby visits him in the hospital again and calls regularly, he doesn't talk about the case. Dean knows that technically, he's not supposed to know anything about it, but he still can't help but wonder.

As for Sam—Sam's been pretty quiet and aloof since the letter and locket, staying immersed in books, going to school and staying late at the library. He isn't complaining about his hand, hasn't had to call Dean to take him home from school, and he doesn't join Dean and Cas for Cas's teatime in the sitting room. He even watches _Dr. Sexy_ without making fun of it. Basically, he's been mostly quiet and when he's not, it's just like… _before_. He's not angry, he's not resigned, he's not sad. And while under normal circumstances Dean would be happy with this, he's kinda worried at Sam's silence now.

He knows Sam can't be dealing well with what happened that night, plus the letter, and it's probably overwhelming and worse for him than anyone else, but he's surprisingly all right and Dean feels like he's just waiting for the other shoe to drop. When it doesn't seem to happen, Dean hopes this is all an amazing miracle. Because, hell, he knows he and Cas haven't dealt with it, but he can feel the hole left behind by that day close slowly with each quiet moment that he spends with Cas, like scar tissue forming over gaping wounds. He just wishes Sam could be there with them.

Soon enough, Sam's twenty-third birthday comes around and Sam doesn't really want many people around, so they decide to have a small get-together at Ellen's place. Bobby drives over in the evening just after Sam's back from school, and it is a pleasant surprise for both of them to see him at their place.

"Hey, Bobby," Sam says to him at the door, a smile on his face for the first time in ages as they hug. Cas is still at work, and Dean hopes it's a better day for him, too.

"Can't believe I've known you so long," Bobby tells Sam. "Your mom brought you to the office sometimes when you were a tyke. Never liked to stay still. Seems just like yesterday now."

Sam chuckles. "Wasn't Dean worse than me?"

Bobby raises his eyebrows. "Believe it or not, no. He liked doing his own thing. Sat in one place singing in gibberish and colouring and making big sorry eyes when he had to go back home. Never thought _you'd_ grow up to be the quiet one."

"Hey!" Dean protests, coming over from the kitchen with bottles of beer in hand. He gives Bobby a pint before taking his bag from him and putting it on the couch. "Come on in, Bobby, you just gonna stand there and tell Sam how much of a pain in the ass I am?"

"Idjit," Bobby counters, then follows them over to the kitchen where they sit at the small, rickety table with their beers. Sam rejects a pint of his own, and Dean shrugs. More for him.

"So you figure out anything about your mom?" Bobby asks them, taking a sip of his drink. Dean copies him, enjoying the feeling of cold beer sliding down his throat as he drinks.

"Nothing you didn't know or tell us already, Bobby," says Sam. They had gotten around to seeing the locket a few hours after the letter and it was just Sam and Dean's pictures in there. It had been a quiet moment between them, a moment of peace and remembrance of how much their mother had cared for them, but Dean was sure this had nothing to do with the FBI.

"Your roommate?"

"He knows Mom was working with the FBI, but we didn't tell him anything other than that."

"Good," says Bobby. "Don't tell people what she was up to."

Dean huffs. "We don't know, either, Bobby, so you can bet we wouldn't tell anyone. She said she was going undercover and…" He shrugs, avoiding the mental image of seeing her one last time before coming to California. "The next thing I know, you called me when I was here with Sammy."

Bobby's eyes soften, but then he casts one glance at Sam, who's determinedly looking at his lap. "Well then, we should maybe talk about something better than this stuff," he says, understanding that Sam probably doesn't want to remember it on his birthday. Dean is thankful for that.

Meanwhile, Bobby squints at Sam, then Dean, and clears his throat. "So you boys got any special someones I need to know of?"

Dean snorts. "Why, you gonna tell them to get your blessing first?"

Bobby grins. "Damn right I am."

"Bobby," Dean groans. "Come on, dude. And—" he eyes Sam again, "—I'm still, you know, single and all, but Sam's got himself a girlfriend."

"Shut up," Sam mutters. "You're the one who's crushing on—"

"No, I'm not!"

Sam is smiling now, fully, completely, eyes sparkling, and Dean would have played along if he were not tired of Jo telling him he's crushing on Cas.

"Dean," says Sam, "just admit it."

"Yeah, I will, when you tell me—isn't Ruby your girlfriend?"

Bobby seems to straighten up at that. "Ruby?"

Dean frowns at the interruption as he turns to Bobby. "Yeah. Why?" He notices that Sam's stopped grinning, too, and there is a moment of silence as Bobby picks at the label on his beer with his thumbnail. He shakes his head.

"Nothing."

Dean waits for more, but Bobby just drinks his beer, and Sam seems to have moved on from the conversation, too, so he settles down, not sure why this is prickling at him so much.

**~o~**

"So you're leaving to go back to college in a few days?"

Jo grunts, eyes at half-mast as Charlie kisses her nipples, her soft lips sucking repeatedly. Her hand moves down to Jo's navel and Jo fists her bedcovers. "Y-yeah," she whispers. "Will I see you more?"

They're at Jo's place and her mother is down for a nap. Sam, Dean, Cas, and Anna are due to arrive any moment now for Sam's birthday party get-together, but Charlie came in early and they'd _tried_ to hang out in Jo's room, they really had, except, it had soon led to them pulling clothes off each other and ending up on Jo's bed.

Charlie's hand moves further down, tongue still working on Jo's nipple. Her thumb brushes something and Jo shudders, jaw dropping slightly. "Oh God."

"You like that?" Charlie murmurs, surfacing for just a moment before repeating the action.

"Oh, G-God… oh…" Jo's body arches. Charlie's finger slides further down, feeling the wetness, and Jo's breath stutters. She opens her eyes to meet them with Charlie's, who whose tongue is still on Jo's nipple, producing as much magic as her fingers. "You d-didn't answer my—" She gasps, jolting a little, biting her lip as her toes curl. "F-Fuck!"

"Yeah, baby," Charlie purrs, eyes twinkling, her finger moving further, exploring, and then Jo feels it, the bend of Charlie's finger, so her breath gets caught in her throat.

" _FUCK_!" she cries, hand moving to cover her mouth immediately as she spasms, over and over, her body trembling, and Charlie noses Jo's hand away from her mouth to lock her in a warm, wet kiss.

They lie flush against each other a few moments later, each of them panting, and Jo thinks of the question in her mind that Charlie did not answer. Then she hopes that Charlie will, because as stupid as it sounds, in the two weeks that Jo has gotten to know Charlie, she really, _really_ likes her.

And it's not the sex. It's _definitely_ not the sex—though the sex is the best Jo's ever had. Charlie is an ever-vibrant presence. She's brilliant, beautiful, and she understands Jo's ordeal with everything that happened to her mom and their bar. She's always there, kissing Jo happily in little coffee shops and talking to her about books and movies and music and her sister and Jo's mom. And life. And everything that she wants from life. And those are the only things Jo wants to listen to.

She puts her arm under her head, listening to Charlie breathe beside her and staring at her old Beatles poster. There is a stain on Ringo's face; it's been there for years now, but the poster has grown on Jo and she can't think of throwing it away. She glances at Charlie, wondering if she noticed the stain, then smiles to herself as she makes to get up, only to feel Charlie's hand on hers.

"Hey," Charlie mutters, "what's up?"

"Nothing," Jo tells her, "just gimme a moment." She reaches for her iPod and puts it on her dock, flitting through the music on her playlist until she settles on one. Charlie watches her, eyeing the dock for a moment as the opening notes of _Something_ start to play.

"Never took you for a romantic," she says when Jo settles back next to her.

"Shut up," Jo whispers, moving to position herself over Charlie and kissing her as the song plays in the background.

_You stick around now it may show_

_I don't know, I don't know_

**~o~**

The party at Ellen's place is a nice escape from the reality of the crap going around everywhere. Dean and Jo cook Sam's favourite things, Cas brings cake, and Sam seems to be happy and in a good mood as he chats with Charlie, Anna, and Ellen. Once he's finished cooking, Dean stays close to Sam, making sure he's okay even with the sparse number of people around them.

Dinner is relatively peaceful in Ellen's homey dining room with lazy jokes and chatter here and there. Dean's happy with how the food turned out. The chicken is roasted just the way Sam prefers it, the string beans are delicious, as are the gravy and the mashed potatoes. He concentrates on his food, blatantly ignoring Jo and Charlie when they give him and Cas pointed glances. Conveniently enough they made sure he's seated next to Cas and it doesn't take very long for Cas to notice what they're up to. Or at least, get the gist of it.

"Dean," he mutters as Dean reaches for the beans, "why are Charlie and Jo amused by us?"

"No idea, man," Dean replies, scooping food onto his plate. He sets it back and takes a sip of water from his glass, taking the opportunity to glare directly at Jo, who winks at him. Beside him, Cas bends forward for gravy, his shoulder bumping against Dean's, and Dean jolts, the rim of the glass hitting his teeth as he simultaneously inhales some water.

"F-Fu—" Dean starts to cough, the water burning his windpipe and nose and beside him, Cas's eyes widen.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Dean." Cas's hand is on his shoulder and Dean tries wildly to shake him away but he's too busy hacking his lungs out.

"Hey, take it easy," Anna says from her seat and Dean nods, hunched over and coughing, as Cas starts to thump his back with his palm. On his other side, Sam has his second shoulder, holding him still as Dean coughs and breathes.

He hears a familiar snort.

"What's so funny, Joanna Beth?" Ellen's stern voice speaks up, and Dean coughs again, feeling Cas petting his back still, goosebumps forming over his arms. Damn those two girls, they're getting him so self-conscious about this shit now.

"Dean," Sam calls out when Dean stops coughing for a bit, and he looks up at his brother, eyes leaking. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm good." Dean coughs again for good measure, Cas's hand rested unmoving against his back, and for a moment, he leans into the touch before he realises what he's doing. He turns to his friend. "I'm okay, Cas, thanks."

Cas's face is weary and worried, blue eyes holding Dean's gaze. "Are you sure?" he asks. He doesn't take his hand away from Dean yet.

Dean nods, ears growing warm, and pulls in a deep breath. When he looks up, most people at the table are concerned—except Jo, whose attention is on her food.

"You all right, sweetie?" Ellen asks him, and Dean smiles.

"Yeah, I'm good. Just a bit of water down the wrong pipe." He swipes his eyes and nose with the back of his hand, and turns to Cas again. "Hey, I'm good." He smiles for good measure.

Cas seems confused for a moment, eyebrows coming close together, before he realises he's still touching Dean, and he pulls his hand away, shocked. Jo puts her napkin on the table at that moment, standing up. "I'll go get dessert," she says. Her eyes flit over to Dean. "You coming?"

He nods and follows her through the house to the kitchen, where they've kept the pie ready. Jo loads a tray with it while Dean gets the plates and spoons out. He carries the cutlery in his good arm, about to exit, when she grasps at his shirt to stop him. "Dean."

He scoffs, shaking his head as he turns around. "Come on, Jo, not—"

"If you like him—"

"I don't."

" _If_ you like him…"

Dean sighs. "Look, he's nice, okay. He's great to have around, he's friendly, smart, and his supermodel looks don't hurt, either. But you know he's straight, so I ain't going down that road." He can feel the colour rush up his face as he says it, but he's had enough. "So you happy?"

Jo narrows her eyes at him as she sets her tray down on the kitchen counter. "Straight."

"Yeah," Dean tells her. "Not gay. He was married. To a woman."

He expects Jo to leave it there, but she folds her arms instead, expression unchanging. "You're really not as smart as I thought you were."

"What? It's—"

"Not gay is not _straight_ ," Jo tells him. "You've been in my company for… how long now? I thought you knew better." It's true. Dean's known Jo a long time. His dad and her dad were friends from school and they remained friends until her dad died. Their childhood had included lots of Christmas and Easter visits to each other and having them here in Palo Alto has been a blessing.

Dean presses his lips together. "What, _pan_ , like you? I – I don't know…"

"Or, you know," she says with a shrug, "bi, too. He could be bi."

He chuckles. "Well, I ain't getting my hopes up."

"You won't know until you ask."

"Yeah, but I do know that _he_ is sure he's straight, so I ain't breaking a sweat. Maybe we let him figure himself out if he really has to."

She sighs. "You have a point." There is a beat of silence. "So you like him?"

Dean shakes his head. "I don't know."

"You gonna try and figure _that_ one out?"

"No."

She looks like she wants to say something, but she picks the tray back up instead. "Come on, Winchester, people are waiting for their dessert."

**~o~**

Sam's sitting on the sofa when he hears Dean approach. He braces himself for the talk he knows his brother has been dying to have with him, simultaneously moving on the couch to make room for Dean to sit down. He has been quiet all these days, minding his own business, and for once not being pathetic in front of Dean and Cas like he used to be. He's reigning himself in (they have no clue about all the panic attacks he's had since they're well-hidden and _his_ problem now because _what the fuck_ , it's been six months since it all happened and he needs to pull himself together).

Now Sam realises that maybe Dean isn't buying any of it.

Well, then, he'll just have to convince Dean that he _is_ getting better. That he is pushing himself to get better. And maybe Dean will leave him alone.

They're back from Ellen's after an evening that Sam actually enjoyed, and Cas just changed into his nightclothes and is puttering about the kitchen fixing himself tea. Dean's got a beer in his hand and he waves it at Sam to ask if he wants one, too, but Sam refuses. Dean's not surprised; he merely brings himself to sit on the couch beside Sam.

Sam leans against the lumpy cushions, shutting his eyes and taking a deep breath. "So?"

"So… nothing." Dean adjusts himself on the sofa and Sam knows with his ribs and his cast it's difficult for him to get comfortable sometimes. So he waits for Dean to settle, get his bulky cast out of the way, before he scoffs.

"Why would you come here if it's nothing?"

"What, I can't just want to talk to you?" Dean asks him. Sam opens an eye and watches him down a sip of the beer, hears him gulp down the liquid. He strains to listen to everything now, desperate to have all of his hearing back, even though he still has tinnitus and isn't one hundred percent.

Sam shuts his eyes again. "You and _talk_? Please. If that therapist hadn't said I'd probably die if I didn't have someone talking to me, you wouldn't even try." It sounds way bitterer than he intends, and he can practically feel Dean flinch at the words. "I'm all right, Dean," he says, sighing. "You haven't had to rescue me for a while now. Haven't you noticed?"

"As a matter of fact," Dean says, setting his beer down on the coffee table, "I have."

"Okay. Good."

"Sammy—"

"No."

"I didn't even say anything."

"I meant—" Sam gives up keeping his eyes shut and sits up straight, turning to his brother as he gets a leg up to rest it on the sofa. "I'm all right. Nothing is wrong with me. I'm not… _drowning_ , or in need of help."

Dean nods. "So you just assumed this is about you? Because I don't know about you, man, but Cas and I are not all right with what happened that day."

Sam blinks up at Dean, disbelief setting in. He hadn't thought of that. Oh god. He… he should have—he didn't even _consider_ that.

"It's okay," Dean tells him, "relax. You…" He fidgets with his fingers, plucking strands off his jeans. "Look, it's not like I don't wanna be here or help, you know, but, I do know that whatever happened, me and Cas are taking time to get over it and we know it's hard for you, too, so… if you wanna talk…"

"I'm all right."

"You sure?"

Sam nods. He folds his arms as Cas joins them in the sitting room by taking the armchair, looking tired enough to collapse. He's holding his cup in both hands with the tag of his tea bag sticking out as he takes occasional sips, reclining against the back of the armchair with his legs curled underneath him. Sam watches his brother stare at Cas drinking tea for a whole minute, the silence between them seeming like an entire conversation, and he realises that they probably got much closer, having only each other for support during whatever personal ordeals they've been facing after that blast while he's been away at the library and with Ruby, avoiding and denying and… _neglecting_.

He can't stand the thought of that. He doesn't know if Dean realises that today, his birthday, marks _exactly_ six months from the time that Sam lost whole parts of him. Jess, his soulmate and his love—she's gone, she's been gone six months, and she's the chunk of him he's missing more than anything. And then, after all that, they'd found out about Mom. Mom had died two days before that, but her death is still marked by that very day, too. Because she had been alive to everyone until then.

_Oh, god._

Sam's jerked out of his reverie when Dean gets up from his place suddenly, groaning at whatever that must have cost his ribs, and moves over to Cas who is drooping on his armchair, empty cup threatening to fall from his hands. He gently takes the cup away and touches Cas's shoulder, who blinks up at him, startled, stares into Dean's eyes a moment, and then gets up to retire to his own bed. It seems like they're in a world of their own and Sam remembers Charlie and Jo's teasing these last couple of weeks and wonders if there's any truth to it. He's been teasing them, too—but it was always just for kicks, he _does_ love pulling Dean's leg when he's in his better moods. He never looked at Cas and his brother this closely to wonder if there _is_ something behind all that.

He should have. He's been… he's been careless and distant and he should have, he should have—he should have asked Dean, spoken to him, because they don't know if Cas feels the same for Dean. _God, God, oh God…_

"Sammy?"

Before Sam can think further, Cas seems to be in bed and Dean's coming back to place himself next to Sam on the sofa.

That's when Sam takes a look at his brother's face for the first time in days. And sure, Dean's always looked tired and weary but now he just seems… hopeless. Like he needs to sleep for an eternity, like he needs to forget, like he aged several years in a short time. And Sam's heart sinks to his stomach because how didn't he notice, how didn't he _notice_?

"Earth to Sammy?" Dean says, snapping his fingers to interrupt Sam's thoughts and Sam blinks, trying to listen to what his brother is saying instead of dissolving into his own damn grief again because _pathetic pathetic pathetic_. Dean seems to see right through it and he scoffs. "Dude. It's okay, man. You've got your own shit to deal with."

Sam shakes his head. "I – I didn't—"

"It's okay. You take care of yourself, and school. Me and Cas are fine… or, we're getting there."

Sam looks down at his stubs, which twinge with the slightest pain. "I should have been here."

"You were, and you are."

"No. No, I…" There is a lump in Sam's throat. He could have lost Dean that day in the blast. He's mourning Jess today, and his fingers, but they're gone and they won't come back and Dean… Dean is here and Sam should have realised—

"Hey, stop it, I can _hear_ you thinking from here."

Sam's eyes are stinging, but for the life of him he can't stop now and he thinks of the nightmare he'd had, of Dean burning, dying. Of Dean dying, dying, dying in pain and scorching away and bleeding and Sam was never there.

He was never there.

He feels an arm around him, and Dean grunts a little as he pulls himself closer to Sam, trying to meet eyes with him. Sam reaches to brush away at the sudden wetness on his cheek and hears Dean sigh. "Aw, jeez, Sammy, it's okay, man. Hey—" He waits a few seconds, seems to hesitate, and then squeezes Sam close, hugging him.

It lasts a moment—just a moment, but now Sam's looking up at Dean again, noticing everything that has indeed changed. He watches Dean's desolate, rueful eyes; the green seemingly faded with bruises underneath. However when Dean speaks, his voice is not as broken as he looks. "I haven't gotten you your birthday gift yet," he says.

"You don't have to." Sam disentangles himself from Dean, and Dean takes another swig of his beer.

"No," he says, "I wanna. And I think you need it."

"What…?"

Dean bites his lip as he traces a finger around the rim of his bottle. "Do you wanna go visit Mom? We can make a quick trip this weekend."

Sam doesn't even take a second to reply to that. "Yeah, Dean. Let's go," he says, letting Dean hug him again.

Later when Dean's settled in for the night and Sam's gotten into his own bed, he pulls the bedcovers around him and watches his brother stare at the ceiling. His fingers hurt some—it's been a hard day—and he thinks of the pills in his bag. He doesn't need them. Not yet. He remembers talking to Ruby that day, at the hospital about this.

 _"_ _You don't want to know," Ruby tells him once she's expressed her own frustrations with the exercise and Advil._

_She's smirking, and Sam raises an eyebrow. "Don't I?"_

_"_ _No."_

 _"_ _You can talk to me, you know. I'm not going to tell on you or anything."_

_She purses her lips. "There's nothing to tattle about. It's legal." She's picking up her handbag then, sticking her hand inside it and pulling out a bottle. Sam eyes it. It's Tylenol 4._

_"_ _It's got codeine," she says, handing it over to Sam. "I just can't work after taking it, so not the best remedy, but… it works."_

_He shrugs and gives it to her but she pushes it back at him. "You can have that one."_

_"_ _No, I don't want it, and that would make it illegal."_

 _"_ _It's good though," she tells him. "Better than all that other crap. And it's not hard for me to get more."_

 _"_ _Legally?"_

 _"_ _Legally."_

_He stares at the bottle for a few more seconds as she picks up her bag. "Keep it, Sam, it's all right," she says. "And let's eat something already; I'm fucking starving."_

"Hey, Dean?"

Sam finds himself staring at the ceiling as he thinks of Ruby, and listens to his brother mutter from the other side of the room. "Hmm?"

"Ruby is FBI."

Dean takes a moment to register that. "Is she—?"

"Not because of us. But the… you know, terrorism thing."

"And Bobby knows?"

"Bobby knows. But I told Ruby we wouldn't tell him. We aren't supposed to know and I found out by accident."

If Dean is betrayed by that reveal, he makes no indication of it. He doesn't reply; just continues thinking whatever he is thinking. However, Sam's chest feels lighter, like someone lifted a heavy load off him. He shuts his eyes, finally letting himself drift away.

The sleep that follows is dreamless and fulfilling.


	10. Houston

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I guess, long time, no see from my side. Sorry. Life happened. And I really tried! This chapter took me months to write. I hope some Destiel sexytimes make up for it. ;)
> 
> I am already halfway through the next chapter and I will try to finish it as soon as I can. No plans to abandon, promise. In the meantime, if you're enjoying this story, please take a moment to review. Every single comment matters. Thank you!
> 
> As usual, thank you to my lovelies, Naila and Allison for the beta and Sanjana and Ellen for the support. <3

 

Cas's phone rings while he is busy packing for his trip to Houston with Sam and Dean. They invited him along on the day after Sam's birthday, since Dean was especially concerned about Cas having to be alone over the weekend. After some worry and a lot of reluctance (for he would intruding upon what needed to be a private family event), Cas had finally agreed when Dean insisted for him to join them. So here he is, right now, packing for a trip with two men who've bonded more with him in a few weeks than most of his real family did in years and years, and so he is slightly nervous, if not annoyed, when he looks down and sees Gabe's name on his phone.

Cas takes the call. "I told you, I am not interested in talking to you," he says in a low voice, going over to peek at Dean puttering about in the living room. Cas watches him settle on the sofa with a bowl of popcorn, and his breath stutters a little when Dean winks at him, easy, smooth, and just a little flirtatious. Cas smiles back at him before shutting his door for some privacy.

"Well?" he demands of his brother. "Why are you not saying anything?"

 _"_ _Listen."_ Gabe takes a deep breath on the other end of the line. Cas can hear the rustle of it, the whisper, as his brother gathers himself for whatever he wants to say. _"Get out of that goddamned apartment. And that town, maybe, but mostly the apartment."_

Cas narrows his eyes. "Why?"

 _"_ _Do I need to spell it out for you?"_

"Yes, because I am having trouble understanding why. What is wrong with the apartment?"

 _"_ _You'll probably know. If you stay on. Which is why I don't want you to find out."_

"I'm not going anywhere. Nor am I abandoning these people."

 _"_ _Oh, come_ on _,"_ Gabe sighs, and Cas can _see_ him roll his eyes. _"You barely know them!"_

"No, I know them better than I know you."

 _"_ _Cassie, come on, kid_ ," Gabe drawls, slightly pleading, and Cas's heart jumps.

"Don't call me that."

 _"_ _Which part?"_

"Both."

 _"_ _You couldn't wait for it, could you? To be called_ Castiel _? Of all the weird names out there…"_

"That's what our mother named me."

Gabe snorts. _"Dude, she was so high when that happened."_

"It was one of the last things she said." Cas has a lump in his throat now, but he swallows it down as he sits on his bed, packing forgotten for a bit.

Gabe can't counter that. _"Fine,"_ he says, _"but at least take me seriously. I'm not kidding. Not even a little bit. And you know that."_

"Is this why you have been trying to call me ever since I moved in? To ask me to find another place?"

 _"_ _Look, I just wanted to meet you for a few drinks so that I could tell you to get out of there. If you'd met me before you fell in love with those roommates of yours…"_

"I'm not in love with anyone. They just mean a lot to me. They care more about me than you or Father ever did."

 _"_ _Hoo boy, thank fuck you didn't include Amelia or Claire in that list of people who cared less. I was worried."_

"You have no right to question my love or loyalty for anyone after what you pulled."

 _"_ _And you were perfect, yes, you expect to be thumped on the back your whole life for it, do you?"_

"No. I just believe you have no right to patronise me like this." Cas narrows his eyes, anger simmering inside him. "And what do you care anyway? Like I said, you rebelled and left long before you had to be there to watch me handle any of this."

 _"_ _Oh puh-lease, you're not a saint, Cas."_

"No. I made mistakes. But I also took responsibility for them."

 _"_ _Like Claire?"_ Gabe's voice is teasing, chiding, and Cas clenches his fist. _"Was that a mistake, too?"_

"Don't," he warns. "Don't go there."

 _"_ _How's she doing? All good in your broken little nuclear family?"_

"Like you care," Cas snaps. "I am done with your pretense."

A beat. _"I do care. Mostly about you, but I do."_

"You're lying."

 _"_ _Not when I'm saying I need you to leave that place."_ Gabe is back on that topic and Cas shuts his eyes, urging God to give him patience. _"I should have said it on the phone when you actually picked up my call the last time."_

"Do you think that would have made me move?"

 _"_ _Well… you weren't in love with them!"_

"I _told_ you, I am not in love, and no, I wouldn't move. I don't have money."

 _"_ _Shut up. You have loads of it."_

"Father's money."

 _"_ _Which you blow off on your daughter."_

"I don't _blow it off_ on her. I am making sure she gets a good education and a great life with that money. And yes, it's because I love Claire," Cas replies through gritted teeth. "Do you have anyone like that, Gabe? Who you would give everything for?"

Gabe sighs. _"Don't get petty."_

"I will, and screw you."

 _"_ _Where did you learn that from? Which roommate?"_

"Screw. You."

Gabe seems to give up at that. _"Look. I should have said this earlier. If you'd listened to me, if you'd moved_ before _, you wouldn't have spent those days at the hospital."_

"What?!"

 _"_ _Never mind. You should have heard me out."_

Cas's heart is racing at the revelation. "It doesn't matter now," he says as calmly as he can. There is a pause and he goes over to his window, resting an elbow on the ledge as he looks out at the evening sky. He leans his forehead against the cool glass and shuts his eyes. "Do you know something?" he asks, at long last.

 _"_ _Well, for starters, their mom—who is a doornail, by the way—was with the FBI."_

"Dean told me about that," Cas replies. "She passed away six months ago. Don't talk so insensitively about a dead person."

 _"_ _You're touchy for someone who sees people die every day."_

Cas takes a deep breath and lets it out. "Was there anything else that you thought I didn't know about?"

 _"_ _Oh, you bet there's stuff you didn't even_ think _you didn't know about."_

"Get to the point, Gabriel."

 _"_ _Gabriel, huh?"_ His brother snorts. _"Cassie's getting angry, I see. Aaaanyway. The big truth I'm about to reveal to you is…"_ He pauses, as if for dramatic effect, but Cas is drumming his fingers against the window ledge already.

"Go on," he prods his brother.

 _"_ _Little brother, you'll be pleased to know that Special Agent Mary Winchester was actually undercover. Investigating the Demons."_

Cas's breath catches in his throat at the very mention of the term. _Demons_. He'd held it together in the hospital as Dean watched the news, he'd avoided newspapers, and he had tried to block it out as much as he could. But now…

His stomach clenches as he goes back to sit on his mattress, sweat beading on his forehead. "Are you—who told you? Is this true?"

Gabe takes a bit to reply to that. _"I don't know. I don't know if I'm even close to being correct. This is just… stuff I heard from some of my sources. Along with some other stuff."_

"Then we should, perhaps, contact the police," says Cas.

 _"_ _No, dude,_ you _need to get out of there. And don't even ask me why. Now you_ know _."_

"My safety is not more important than that of others."

 _"_ _Sure. Think of others first again, would you? Look. You might be Mommy's Little Angel but that doesn't change things,"_ says Gabe, and Cas finds himself getting more and more annoyed by the moment. _"Now get out of there."_

"When you're not even sure if your information is correct? Call the police, and I will be convinced. And if you know more about this, then a whole lot of people apart from the three of us are in danger. I hope you realise that."

 _"_ _Yeah,"_ Gabe sighs, _"I do—"_

"Then call the police."

 _"_ _I can't, okay? Not now,"_ Gabe says to him. _"But in case it's true…"_ He takes in another deep breath, _"will you get out of there?"_

Cas wants to say no to him but then he hears the defeat in his brother's voice and makes up his mind. He nods even though Gabe can't see him. _"If_ what you're saying is correct, I will. But not without Sam and Dean by my side." He knows who the Demons are, but he also knows who his roommates are, and if this is what is endangering them, he will make sure they're as protected as he is.

Gabriel doesn't seem to share his opinion, though, as the call is disconnected, for the second time that they have spoken after all these years, without so much as a _goodbye_.

Cas puts his chores aside for a bit and joins Dean on the couch, thoughts running through his head and making his heart thump as he thinks about his recent conversation. Dean looks away from the _Dr. Sexy_ episode and takes only a moment to notice Cas's distress.

In the next few minutes, Cas finds himself holding a steaming mug of tea.

As usual, they let the silence talk for them. Dean sits back on the couch, a grunt and a sigh telling Cas just how much his injuries still hurt him and if Cas leans into him just for a bit, shoulders and knees touching, breaths in sync as they celebrate their own little silence, neither of them speaks about it.

**~o~**

Jo groans as she shifts and cuddles into Charlie, adjusting the hot water bottle against her cramping abdomen. The day had begun stupidly enough with her period starting and making itself very known through those awful cramps, and now she's coming to realise that after today, she won't be seeing Charlie for a while. That just makes it all worse.

She groans again. "Why couldn't cis dudes get periods instead of us?"

They're marathoning _Jessica Jones_ on Charlie's couch while Anna works her night shift, huddled together in a blanket and wrapped around each other as they both cheer Jessica on for kicking ass, except for the times when Jo needs to complain about her period. Charlie lets her do that, adding her own grouses to it.

"I'm glad they don't," Charlie replies, leaning against Jo. "They already whine too much for all the crap they _don't_ have to suffer."

Jo snorts. "Point."

"So you're leaving for San Francisco in the morning?" Charlie murmurs into Jo's ear, fingers trailing absently through Jo's hair.

"Mom's doing better now, plus I have to get back to college sometime," says Jo. "You'll call me, right?"

"Are you done packing for it?"

"Yup," says Jo. She presses her lips together, ready to ask her question again, but Charlie's fingers are on her chin before her lips move to meet Jo's.

She pulls away and grins. "I'll FaceTime you, okay? Every night."

Jo grins back at her. "I would love that."

"I'm kinda gonna miss you," Charlie admits, voice suddenly low and morose.

"Me, too," says Jo, holding Charlie's gaze. "I'll be back soon. There's always FaceTime until then." She leans in for another kiss and lets Charlie start to undo her bra, trying not to think of how painful it's going to be when they have to separate.

**~o~**

They're not sure who started it.

One moment, Piccolo is making out with Dr. Sexy in the supply closet and Dean's snorting because he remembers doing that in high school with a lot of guys. It was fun—the groping, the desperation, and the thrill of doing it even with the real danger of getting caught, and he kinda misses it. Hell, he misses picking up dudes at bars, and his Grindr hook-ups and annoying Sammy with the gory details and most of all, the contact. Skin on skin, lips smashing together, hot breaths and the tingle of each and every touch, and he's missed it, missed it for so, so long that he's relaxed, even maybe relieved when Cas's lips meet with his.

Kissing Cas is like everything Dean ever imagined; his tongue running over the ridges of those full lips, slow and teasing, and Cas's teeth against his own mouth, dragging against sensitive skin. Cas smells like the hospital and sandalwood; tastes like tea and happiness, and Dean pulls him deeper, cupping the back of his head as he moves over to straddle Cas.

Cas doesn't protest. Instead, his hands run down Dean's back, firm, calloused palms touching sensitive skin, and the hands go over to undo Dean's belt and fly, pushing past his waistband, to his ass, gripping him tightly.

Dean is hard the next second, a gasp escaping him. He pulls Cas back into the kiss, letting their breaths and heartbeats mingle with each other as Dean takes the moment to grind once against Cas. Cas grunts in response and Dean pulls loose from the kiss to wander, nibbling and sucking on stubbled chin as he grinds against Cas again and again.

God, oh God, it feels so good. They're both out of breath and damp with sweat, rocking against each other as Cas's hands trace a path to Dean's front, riling him up, sending him into a frenzy, and—

"Dean?"

Dean's eyes fly open as he wakes up with a start. Cas is looking at him through the dim light cast from the TV, confused, and Dean realises there is a blanket wrapped around him, at the kindness of Cas it seems, and thank God for that because there is a furious boner tenting his pants right now.

He wipes away the drool sitting at the corner of the mouth and sits up carefully with the blanket as he avoids Cas's gaze. "Hey! I… uh… why did you let me sleep?"

"You seemed very tired," says Cas. "But then you started muttering something in your dreams, so…"

Dean coughs, feeling warmth creep up his cheeks. He tries to look at Cas, but it only makes everything worse because Cas seems concerned. "Were you having a nightmare?" he asks, affectionate and _soft_ , and Dean feels like it would be better for everyone involved if he just melted off and flowed away into a drain.

Unfortunately, that doesn't happen.

Dean clears his throat, trying to find an explanation, but is saved from it when the doorbell rings. He thanks any and every god out there when Cas volunteers to get it, and Dean uses that moment of privacy to slink away to the bathroom. Just as he shuts the door behind him he hears Sam's voice and he decides that he owes his little brother everything for this save right now. He looks for the cling film in the vanity to drape around his cast because if he's here, he might as well just take a shower. And no. No. He does _not_ want to entertain his boner right now.

Come to think of it, he should have realised it was all a dream because he was miraculously uninjured during his supposed make-out session with Cas.

Make-out session. _God._

Cas's mouth comes back to him, an image in his head and the ghost of what it felt like on his lips and Dean decides, screw everything, because he can't take this anymore. When he gets into the shower to jerk off, the thought and memory of it alone has him coming with a small cry—the best he's had in years, and when he realises that, when he realises what his crush on his roommate is doing to him, he has to take a minute to lean against the wall to let the warm water drench him because dammit, he is so, so _screwed_.

**~o~**

The morning of the trip to Houston starts off weird with Dean acting cagey around Cas for no apparent reason, leaving both Sam and Cas extremely confused. Sam knows now that his brother has a thing for his roommate but he's not sure what happened between the time he left for college yesterday and this morning. He asked Cas about it, too, and Cas described a particularly uneventful evening in front of the TV with Dean, and promised that nothing happened. Dean had seemed fine through it all. And Sam is aware of that because even when he _had_ come back from college, his brother had seemed okay, having emerged from a shower, packing all done, and coaxing Sam to get to bed soon.

So what went wrong?

He doesn't really have the energy to find an answer to that. As such, his heart has been pounding since the morning, hands shaking, stump hurting, and Sam doesn't really know how to deal with any of it. Dean didn't notice that today, which is really weird, but Sam's okay with that. He's not sure he wants to be fussed over or babied.

Presently, after a lot of _excuse me_ s and silent cursing on Dean's part, Sam and Dean and Cas manage to find their seats in the aircraft. Dean's been grumbling the whole way about having to fly. Sam understands that he of all people shouldn't be pushing his brother to face his phobia right now, but they don't have time to drive to Houston. Cas even offered Dean a melatonin pill to get him to sleep through the journey but Dean awkwardly declined. Sam has Dean take the middle seat so Dean can be within reach of both him and Cas when he's not feeling too well or needs help. He doesn't tell Dean that, though, because Dean will roll his eyes and tease him.

"Fucking airplanes, man," Dean says, fastening his seatbelt and taking deep breaths. "I can't see why you couldn't take an extra day off college."

"Seriously, Dean?" Sam asks him, fishing for the catalogue in the seat pocket. "I took a whole five _months_ off college, in case you didn't notice."

He realises the next second that it was rude to say that. It was not Dean's fault it happened—and he remembers that when his mind isn't playing tricks with him, but then he's blamed Dean one too many times for his trauma to let it pass like this.

"Sorry," Sam says.

Dean ignores that. "If we crash and die, I'm blaming you."

Sam snorts. "Sure."

"Planes crash, Sam!"

"Rarely," Sam says to him. "Would you just relax and take the melatonin from Cas so I can have a peaceful flight?"

Cas hears that. "Yes, they're in my carry-on, so—"

"I ain't taking no melanin," Dean snaps.

"Melatonin," Sam and Cas say at the same time, and Dean rolls his eyes.

"Great. Two nerds at once. Just what I needed for this damn trip."

"Really?" Sam asks him. "I see what you read, Dean, and the stuff you can do, so why do you act dumb like this?"

"So you don't get an inferiority complex," Dean tells him, but Sam notices the small smile on his brother's lips. He likes to remind Dean of his capabilities sometimes, remind him not to underestimate himself. Sam thinks it is unfair that their father's paranoia kept Dean away from college. He would have done so great.

"Just so you know," Dean says suddenly, and Sam almost jumps in his seat. "It was _my_ decision not to go to college, okay? The classroom setting is not my style. So stop thinking whatever sappy crap you're thinking, stop hating on our poor dead dad, and enjoy your stupid airplane ride."

Sam scoffs and looks away, feeling Dean stiffen when the plane begins to taxi. He tries to ignore Cas's hand reaching for Dean's and Dean refusing it, but hesitantly letting his fingers touch Cas's. Sam tries not to grin when Cas's gesture calms Dean a little bit, but not without a vivid blush creeping up his cheeks, there to stay for the better part of the journey.

Sam's amusement and sense of ease is short lived, though. When the plane lands in Houston, he finds himself clenching up the same moment that he hears Dean's sigh of relief. And while he's glad for Dean's comfort, Sam isn't sure what he's supposed to feel at all. He hasn't been here in a long time. He hadn't attended their mother's funeral because he was in too much pain and too out of it to travel, and everything was just fucked up. After that he'd never felt ready to come back and Dean, somehow picking up on that, had never nudged him to do so. He's ready now—he knows he said that to Dean even the day after his birthday, but sometimes he wonders: is he really?

They get a cab to a motel, the journey quiet, and Dean's staring out of the window at the life he let go of for Sam. Cas is silent, too, picking up on the tension in the air, and Sam wonders if he regrets agreeing to accompany his fucked-up roommates on this trip. Because Sam knows. He knows one day Cas is going to get tired of them, tired of adjusting with him, because that's just how this is. Sam has a talent of scaring everyone away from him. And maybe then Dean won't talk to him because Dean is so fond of Cas; Sam can see it.

He wishes there was a way to know if Cas would reciprocate those feelings anytime in the future.

His thoughts are interrupted by Dean's voice. "You know, Clint said we could stay over at his place, but I said no. Nice of him, though."

Sam raises an eyebrow, turning to his brother. "Clint?"

"Yeah, he..." Dean's about to say something, but he pauses. "Oh. Right. He got transferred here after you left. I forgot."

Sam bites his lip, heart sinking at the things he had missed while he was away. He should have called. Should have written more letters, but...

"He's a friend of Mom's from the Bureau," says Dean. "I think they went on a couple of dates, too, but I guess it didn't really work out. They stayed friends, though."

Sam raises an eyebrow. "Mom dated someone?" For some reason he can't imagine that. He was always in favor of his mother finding someone else after their dad died, but he'd never told her that, and the way she'd been about their father even after he passed away, Sam hadn't thought she'd been up to it.

He had, obviously, been very wrong about that.

He clears his throat. "How do you know they dated?"

Dean glances at Cas, who has been silent the whole while, before he replies. "She told me, dude."

"She never mentioned it to me," Sam tells Dean, his heart sinking some more. He rubs at his stubs. "I... I wrote to her."

"How many times?"

And Sam doesn't have a reply to that. Because the answer is, _barely_. The answer is that he never bothered to get involved. That he never cared enough.

But then, he did care. He was just so pissed. At all of them. He hadn't realised how much time he'd spent being… _angry_. And the more he thinks about it, his reasons for the silence feel weaker and weaker.

He didn't talk to his mother enough before she died suddenly and horribly, and that's the truth.

"Yeah," Dean mutters beside him, as if he just read Sam's mind. "That's what I thought."

The whole weekend just goes downhill from there.

**~o~**

When Cas's phone rings during lunch, he is a little surprised to see that it's Amelia. Sam and Dean have been quiet since their discussion in the car earlier today, and for a reason Cas cannot understand, Dean is not talking to _him,_ either. So once they've all deposited their things in the motel rooms, lunch is awkward at best.

The restaurant they decide to eat at is called Morgan's Steakhouse. Apparently it was a Winchester family favourite, although the part of the family that favourited it probably did not include Sam, from the way he's eyeing his steak. As for Cas, he can practically feel the lard clog up his arteries as he chews on pork ribs. He is utterly disgusted, but for the sake of Dean and Dean's bad mood today, he keeps quiet about it.

That is precisely why he'd be lying if he said he wasn't relieved to have been able to step outside for a bit to talk to Amelia.

"Hey," he greets his ex-wife, putting the phone to his ear. "How are you?"

 _"_ _I'm good, Cas_ ," she says. _"Not in town, are you?"_

"No, I'm in Houston. I'll see Claire on Tuesday. I've spoken to Krista. Is that all right?"

 _"_ _Yeah, I know you'd agreed on that… but listen."_

"Yes?"

 _"_ _Krista has to rush off to Italy tomorrow. Emergency with her brother-in-law."_

Cas raises an eyebrow. "What happened?"

 _"_ _He had a heart attack,"_ Amelia sighs. _"He's okay, it wasn't so bad and they got him to the hospital in time, but they're considering some invasive treatments, so…"_

"So, Claire will have to stay with me," Cas concludes. Amelia is heading off to her annual three-month yoga retreat in Florida and every year, Cas has Claire stay at his place for that time period. This has been going on for years now—ever since he regained Amelia's trust. After everything. After Cas had pulled himself out of—

He stops thinking about it.

 _"_ _Cas,"_ Amelia prods him, breaking him out of his reverie. _"It wouldn't be a problem, would it?"_

"No, no, of course not," he replies. The three months every year that he spends with his daughter, uninterrupted by custody rules, are his three favourite months of the year. But there is a reason he had to request Amelia's sister to take care of Claire this time.

"It's just that," he continues, glancing at Sam and Dean while they eat, "I have got roommates now, Amelia. I…" He scratches his head. "I ran short of money this year, so I had to give up my place."

 _"_ _I know,"_ she says. _"You've told me about it. I'd like to meet them once I'm back. But until then…"_ She pauses before continuing, _"I was thinking you could move into my place."_

Cas's heart jumps into his throat. "Are you sure?"

 _"_ _Well, yeah. Of course. I mean, I trust you with my things and I trust you with Claire. You're an ex who's_ not _horrible at all, so…"_ She laughs, brief and nervous, and Cas's stomach does a backflip, because they've come so far, _so far_ with this and he honestly can't believe sometimes that he had lost hope of ever even partially reuniting with his family.

And just like that, he aches to see Amelia again. Aches to hold her in his arms and feel all that comfort and warmth and happiness he'd felt even when they were broke and struggling to raise a child in separate towns, married very young and parents even younger. When the worst years of their lives were also the best because they had each other and they had Claire and her little hands and feet and her bright, giggling laughter.

 _"_ _Cas?"_ Amelia calls out softly to him and he presses two fingers to the bridge of his nose.

"Sorry," he says, "tell me."

 _"_ _There's nothing more—just, are you all right with this? You know once Krista comes back she can have Claire over if you want. If you're not comfortable with this arrangement, that is..."_

"Yes. I…" Cas glances at his roommates again. "I don't think Sam and Dean will mind very much as long as I pay the rent. And I don't think I should back out on that since they're struggling as well. But yes, your idea is fair. It would be easier to keep Claire at your place, since mine cannot accommodate her."

 _"_ _Great."_ Amelia sounds relieved. _"I'm leaving the day you come back, once Claire's at school, so just pick her up and I think we're all set."_

"I'll do that."

 _"_ _Good. I'll see you later?"_

"Sure, Amelia."

 _"_ _Bye, Cas."_

**~o~**

"So you're—you're just… _leaving_ then, is that it?"

Dean's not sure why he feels so betrayed, but he does, and Cas's merry announcement that he's going to be at his ex's place, looking after his daughter for three months, is like an icing on the shitcake that is today.

"I'll be in touch, Dean," Cas tells him gently, as though Dean's a damn frightened animal. "You can visit, too."

Dean narrows his eyes, putting his knife and fork down, because he's suddenly not interested in his steak anymore. The meaty smell of the small restaurant that previously brought him joy and happy memories is serving to suffocate him today and he thinks he's going to be sick if they don't leave here soon.

He sighs. "You know what? You don't have to console me or anything. I'm not your damn ex. Or your kid."

"No, I never said—"

"Should we be looking for a new roommate?" Dean interrupts Cas. "Because Sammy and I are running out of money here." He glances at Sam, who's been relatively quiet during the course of the meal, and is currently picking at his abomination of a salad.

"I will contribute to the rent," Cas replies. "I understand your financial issues and I won't cause you a problem there."

"Sure, Richie Rich," Dean finds himself sneering. "You have so much sympathy for my family, don't you?"

"Dean, I—" Cas looks away, running his good hand down his face, and then turns back, eyes helpless and a little angry. "I don't understand what you want of me. You're angry with me today and I don't even remember saying anything at all since the morning, much less saying something that would upset you. I understand my leaving to be with Claire is a problem, but I offered you the best solution I could think of. If there is anything else…"

Dean stares at him, thinking of his damn dream last night and thinking of today and how shitty it is, and before he knows it, he's pushing his food away.

"I need some air," he says, and he's out of the restaurant before Sam or Cas can even react.

He doesn't have an explanation for how he feels that he can even give to himself, much less Cas. So he escapes, leaves to clear his head, and wonders how to stop all this, how to feel better about it all.

He's calling Jo before he knows it, and when her voice comes on—

 _"_ _Hey, what's up?"_

Dean lets out a breath. "I think I… I feel something for him, okay? And it's shitty. What do I do?"

She pauses. _"He still straight?"_

"Given no indication otherwise," replies Dean, and his voice cracks. Fuck. _Fuck_. What has he gotten himself into? "You got any advice?"

 _"_ _Well,"_ Jo tells him, _"either you get lucky and he turns out to not be straight…"_

"Or?"

 _"_ _Or you're screwed, Winchester. Get yourself another hot date and forget Cas."_

**~o~**

As Dean steps away to the other side of the road, he does not notice the window of a red Mustang roll down. A face peeks out and a phone takes pictures of him but it's all so discrete that he knows nothing at all.

In another place, not far away, Missouri Moseley lays down her tarot cards. She knows _they're_ coming to see her, the people who lived in this house before, and they'll be here soon. And she's seen their pain and their warm hearts, even though she's never met them. So when she sees the cards her throat gets tight, but then there is warmth flooding all over her.

_Three of swords, the lovers, five of cups, ten of swords, two of cups._

They suffer from loneliness and at least one of them desires love. They will unexpectedly face a lot of grief and there is much pain and suffering for them to endure, but then they will be united at the end of it all, and they will be a family.

They have a long way to go, but they're not alone anymore, and they're going to be fine.


	11. Supernova

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nope, not an April Fool's joke, this is definitely an update. :) Thank you for being so patient, I hope I haven't lost you guys. 
> 
> Anyway, I won't hold you up any longer, please dive in. And as always, thank you to Naila and Allison for the beta and Sanjana and Ellen for the support! <333

 

 

Sam feels his discomfort rise once Dean has left and it is down to only him and Cas. He's not sure what Cas made of everything Dean said this morning, but he knows now, knows for sure that Dean hasn't fully forgiven him. And now…

Well.

Cas knows, too. Cas knows about all of it, all the crap that Sam has pulled on his family. Plus, Cas is better friends with Dean, and since Dean hasn't yet forgiven Sam, that would mean…

Oh, God _. Dean hasn't yet forgiven Sam._

The realisation and then acceptance of this fact makes him put his fork on his plate, his waning appetite now completely lost. He runs a palm over his stubs and tries to ignore the budding pain there. What is he supposed to do? How should he apologise to Dean, get his brother to not be mad at him? Sam was angry when he left for Stanford, yes, but he hadn't meant for any of this to happen. For their mom to die heartbroken. For Dean to have to leave his life behind just to baby Sam and take care of him.

If he could just… could just  _gain some control_ —

He grits his teeth through more pain and his breath shudders. Cas gets alert to that and looks up from his idle consideration of his own food.

"Sam?"

Sam blinks at Cas, at the hurt marring Cas's face at what Dean just did and said. He wonders if Cas will ever understand the full reason behind how Dean just reacted. Chances are, he never will. Not unless Dean tells him.

And Dean probably won't.

"Sam?" Cas repeats, and Sam realises that he'd zoned out. He does that sometimes. His mind likes to close in on itself and wander away from the present when it all gets too overwhelming.

Sam clears his throat and reins in his thoughts. "Hey, sorry about Dean, I..."

"You don't have to apologise," Cas tells him. "Have you finished eating?"

Sam looks down at his half-finished salad. "Yeah," he says. "You?"

Cas pushes his ribs away. "I do not mean to offend your family customs, but the food here is utterly nauseating."

Sam chuckles. "I was always the weird one in our family. The rest of them loved their bacon and ribs and steaks and cheeseburgers."

"I can see that," Cas replies, as he calls for the check. When the waiter arrives with it Sam takes it, leaving Cas with a mildly exasperated smile.

"It's on me," Sam tells him. "Well, it's on my brother, anyway, for being pissy with both of us today." He tries to let it out breezily, like it doesn't mean much, but he has to swallow down the lump in his throat and Cas sees that.

"I don't understand what is upsetting Dean so much when it comes to me," he says, "but Sam, you should know that no matter how your brother reacts right now, the things that happened, to you and to your family, none of it is your fault."

"You got all that from what Dean said?" Sam asks him, pressing dollar bills onto the table. "Because  _this_  was not what he meant at all."

"That you're innocent?"

Sam pretends to meticulously count the money plus the tip but he can feel Cas's eyes on him, waiting for an answer. He clenches his jaw, leaves the money, and takes a last sip out of his water. "No," he says slowly. "He doesn't think I'm innocent and honestly, he's right not to."

"Sam—"

"How much do you know?" Sam asks him. "You know, about—about us?"

"I know you were estranged from your family for four years. I know Dean has a tendency to take his frustrations out on you, and honestly, I think that is immature, as good a person as he is."

"Yeah, don't worry about that," says Sam, snorting as they both get up from their seats. "I've blamed him for a lot of shit that never actually made sense, too. We both do that and then we forget about it."

"You're still hurt by his accusations." Cas's gaze is so jarring; like he can see right into Sam's soul and Sam has to shift around to avoid it as he opens the door to get out into the sun. He doesn't know what to say to that, except, yes, he feels guilty all the fucking time and it just gets worse when Dean straight up blames him. Even though he knows Dean doesn't mean it. That, just because Sam's problems have a diagnosis doesn't mean Dean isn't going through some unnamed shit of his own.

Sam waits to reply, walks alongside Cas for a while as they take the road to their motel. It's not far from here—they found one close to their old home and subsequently, this restaurant.

"Cas," he says, when they're finally just outside their rooms, "you know, Dean gets pissed when he's overwhelmed. I know it's not fair and that he can be an ass sometimes. But he kinda doesn't mean any of that crap he spouts when he's angry. And it's easy to be hurt when he does get angry but… but it doesn't mean he hates you. Or me. Even though I kinda deserve it because I  _did_  walk out on these people. But God knows," he chuckles, something catching in his chest, "he doesn't hate me."

Sam clenches his fist through a frisson of pain and reminds himself to believe what he said, too. He knows that there are some really valid reasons for Dean to be angry at him but the situation with Cas is not the same, so Cas deserves to know. He opens the door to his and Dean's room and watches as Cas produces his own key card. "Cas?"

"Yes?"

"Do you wanna come hang out with me and some of my friends today?"

Cas is in the middle of unlocking his own door when a tired, but big smile spreads across his face. "Of course, Sam," he says, "that would be fantastic. I will see you in a while."

"Sure, man. See you." Sam watches Cas disappear into his room and shuts the door behind him, letting the loneliness of his room encompass him. He crawls into bed, setting an alarm for an hour and a half, and hopes that when he wakes up Dean won't be angry anymore. It's a tall order but holding on to it is all he's got right now.

He feels cold even though summer is already here and he curls up under a blanket, absent fingers pulsing with pain in the background when he falls asleep. But then he wakes up what feels like immediately, to the door banging shut and his alarm beeping on.

"Sammy?"

Sam lifts his head up from the pillow and squints at his clock to switch off the alarm. He had slept a half hour extra and now Dean is here—

"Sammy, this is Clint," says Dean, and Sam is alert at once, sitting up on his mattress and only just noticing their guest.

A tall, well-built man is at the door, dark haired, dark eyed and seemingly in his early fifties. He's got greys at his temples, salt-and-pepper stubble on his chin, and a pair of sunglasses hanging from his button-down.

Sam's gathering himself to get off the bed but Clint takes two strides, proud and confident and reminiscent of their father, as he smiles and gives Sam a hand to shake. "Hey, Sam."

"H-Hi." Sam clears his throat as he shakes hands with the man. "Sorry about th-the…" he stammers, gesturing to his bed.

"Don't worry about it," says Clint. He's carrying a large plastic bag, which he sets on the table. "Dean came around for a chat but he only told me in the end that you're around. I've been wanting to meet you for a while because if your mother wasn't passionately discussing our cases, you and your brother were all she would talk about."

Sam feels his cheeks grow warm as he smooths down the bedcovers. "I… I was at Stanford."

"Yeah, and she was proud," says Clint, giving Sam a half-grin. Then his face falls, as he leans against the table. "Honestly, she was great. Everyone at the office was so sad…"

He trails away, and Sam watches him, questions over questions bubbling up in his head.  _Did you date Mom? How miserable did I make her? Do you hate me for making Mom feel that way? Do you know Dean well? Did he tell you what I did, too? I'm horrible, aren't I? You must think so, too._

The silence in the room, however, overwhelms everything, and Dean finally clears his throat, trying to punch a hole through the melancholy and discomfort. "You guys still investigating whoever killed Mom?"

"Can't tell you, Deano."

Sam flinches. Not many people have the nerve to call Dean  _that_. Dean, however, seems too impressed with the guy to really mind it.

"Bobby was home, asking questions," he says, "after the blast. He spoke to us at the hospital, too."

"So he gave you the letter and the necklace?"

"Yeah," says Dean. He smirks. "It took you guys close to six months to figure out it was just a damn letter and necklace?"

"Can't be too careful," Clint tells him. "She loved you guys."

"She wouldn't tell us about the case, though," says Sam, before Dean can speak, and both Clint and Dean turn to him. He lowers his gaze, trying not to look into Clint's eyes as his heart starts to race. "That would m-mean putting us in danger. She wouldn't risk that. Plus we had no idea what she was up to, so… so leaving us information would be counterproductive because we'd have no idea what to look for, so we wouldn't report it to you even if it was obvious."

"You do have a point," says Clint, "which we unfortunately took six months to get to."

"And you call yourself FBI, man," Dean snorts.

Clint raises an eyebrow at him. "Still a cheeky bastard, I see."

Dean shrugs, and Sam sees something happy, yet forlorn in his eyes. Clint, in the meantime, reaches for the plastic bag behind him and holds it out to Sam. "She made you a small care package she wanted me to send out to you for Thanksgiving, but…"

Sam swallows.  _But she was dead by then and things were a clusterfuck._  He reaches for the packet and takes it, glad for the crinkling noise of plastic to mask the awkward silence in the room. Sam looks at his brother, who is staring at the package with his eyes narrowed and if Sam didn't know better, he'd say Dean is kinda jealous right now. However before he can confirm that the emotion is there, Dean's talking to Clint again.

"Was that evidence, too? The care package?"

"No, because she gave it to me before she went on the job. So she wouldn't have known what we didn't know."

"Oh."

Clint clears his throat. "Sorry it took me a while. Bobby told me about that fire and I thought I should send it to you but we weren't in touch, so I wasn't sure."

"Thanks, Clint," says Sam, and Clint is looking up at him, almost surprised, but then he smiles. Sam maintains eye contact and silently congratulates himself for it.

"No problem, Sam." Clint walks over, grabs his coat, and folds it over his arm. "Do you boys want to go out for a couple of beers?"

"Hell yes!" Dean replies, taking his keys. "Come on, Sammy!"

Sam wants to refuse, wants to spend his own time opening his mother's last gift to him (and it's heavy). But he also knows he needs to talk to Clint. Needs to stop being scared of talking to people again. So he gets up and follows his brother and a man he barely knows, to drink at a bar he's afraid of going to, for facing a past that colours him full of mistakes. And he knows, he knows he fucked up, that he always, always fucks up but he didn't want Dean to be angry. Doesn't want Dean to be so mad just this once. For a bit of peace between them.

But now…

Great. Just the kind of quality time he was hoping to spend here in Houston.

He feels like an outsider in a scenario that he shouldn't be so awkward in and the fact that he missed out on all of this keeps poking at his heart with each minute. He tags along, barely listening to their conversation when Dean rides shotgun in Clint's Hummer and it's more of a relief when they finally reach the bar.

Sam seats himself in a booth with Dean as Clint goes ahead to get them their drinks. Dean watches the man leave, then turns to Sam. "Dude! Could you  _be_  more enthusiastic about meeting Clint?"

Sam shrugs. "I am happy to meet him, Dean. What do you want me to do, bounce around?"

"No, but you still don't have to be such a party pooper," Dean hisses. "He was Mom's friend. He wants to get to know you, too."

"And I'm not stopping him."

Dean looks away, drumming his fingers against the Formica-topped table, impatient and obviously bursting with a retort. Sam feels his insides twist. He knows Dean is just waiting to impress Clint, to get to know the guy more, and Sam doesn't see why Dean has to be so overenthusiastic about it all. Or, if he has to be this way, why he can't leave Sam well the fuck alone. They didn't fly all the way down to Houston to socialise with Clint.

Of course, the real reason they  _are_  socialising with Clint isn't one Dean would be caught dead admitting to. Sam thinks he knows why this is happening, and it is even worse when he has to remind himself that Dean considers Clint a replacement for their dad.

It fits. Clint might have only been on one date with Mom but he was also what seems like Mom's only date after Dad, the only person she'd deemed fit enough to even consider anything more than a friendship with once their dad had passed away. But it doesn't work like that, and Sam wishes he could explain that to Dean. You cannot replace someone like that… and Sam would know.

God, fuck, this is not the moment that he wants to think about Jess, either. Why on earth can't he just have one day of peace without his own thoughts troubling him so much? And why can't Dean just cut him some damn slack after all they've been through? Why can't this ever end?

Annoyance creeps into Sam and he clenches his fists, wondering why he and Dean try to make any progress at all, when it finally has to come down to this. When they have to disagree upon a non-issue and be on edge again when it's… this was never a trip for them.

It was a trip for  _Mom_.

The silence stretches on—Clint seems to be talking to the bartender. Dean looks at his watch. Sam follows him, checking his, and almost misses Dean's huff from across the table.

" _What_?" Sam snaps at his brother, regretting it almost immediately.

Dean straightens himself in his seat. "What, Sammy, a man can't breathe in peace these days?"

Sam looks away, deciding not to reply to that, but Dean is obviously not in the mood to let any of this go. "What's up with the bitchface?"

Sam glances at Clint again, then faces Dean. "I have to meet my friends. I told Cas I'd take him along."

"So?"

"So," Sam clenches his jaw and leans forward, "if your precious replacement-dad could stop being a horndog and finish this off, I have other stuff to do." He ignores Dean's flinch and sneers at his brother. "You don't think I didn't realise what's going on, did you?"

"Shut up, Sam," Dean warns him.

The anger vanishing from inside him, Sam folds his arms against his stomach, and sighs. "I'm tired, Dean."

"Yeah, that's why you need a beer."

"No," Sam says, "no. I wanna go back and open the stuff Mom sent me and go meet my friends. Then I want to do what we  _actually_  came here for. Visit Mom."

Dean sniggers. "Right."

"What?" Sam challenges him. " _What_?"

His brother shakes his head. "Never mind."

"Tell me."

"Fine. You know what? You asked for it. So fuck you, Sam, and don't talk about Mom when you couldn't even  _be_  there for her, okay?"

Sam's nostrils flare as he looks away, nodding. "Sure, Dean, like you're  _here_  for me now?" It's a low blow and it's selfish but Sam can't help it. He's pissed.

"Huh," Dean says, raising his eyebrow. "Guess I should have seen that coming. You just have to make it all about yourself, don't you?"

Something shifts inside of Sam, his heart dropping into his stomach. There's a beat of silence and Sam thinks his brother might pop a vein in his temple when Dean finally lets out what looks like a noncommittal shrug. "Maybe you should go then." He mutters something else under his breath, and that manages to aggravate Sam some more.

Sam feels himself uncoil like a snake. "What did you just say?"

"Nothing, Sam," Dean replies, washing a hand down his face. "Just go. Like you always do. Leave."

Sam grinds his teeth together, taking a deep breath to calm himself as he stands up. He snatches his coat from the back of his chair, gives Dean the finger, and strides out of the bar because fuck Dean. Fuck him and his fucking assumptions and his emotional blackmail. Sam is sick and tired of all of this and he needs a break.

**~o~**

Things are silent in the motel room at night. Sam reckons it might have been weird when Clint would have come back to Dean to find Sam missing but he can bet it was not as weird as Sam's dinner with his school mates.

He'd not responded to them in ages, only to suddenly message them to declare that he was coming home for a couple of days so it's nice enough of them to agree to meet him. They've all grown, Andy and Ava and Sarah, Sarah's in college and Ava is engaged. Andy is just… Andy. It was really nice talking to them, but also strange.

They'd been very normal to Sam, too. Like they didn't see him obsessively hide his right hand, like he wasn't stuttering at all, like he was making perfect eye contact and social interaction throughout. He could almost fool himself into thinking that he was doing fine.

Almost.

Cas, as promised, had accompanied Sam to the meeting so his presence was a slight consolation to Sam's heart, which was thumping at the prospect of seeing his school friends again. But it was strange as all fuck and Sam was glad to be able to come back and hide from the world by slinking into bed and listening to the dull sounds of Cas's TV from the next room. But then Dean came back, drunk off his ass – something that hasn't happened in a long time now.

Sam was unwrapping a box of Lucky Charms from his mother's care package when Dean entered the room, and Sam knew from the expression on Dean's face at that moment, that he hadn't imagined Dean's jealousy earlier that day. So Sam decided not to instigate his brother further and put the box away. "Hey."

When Dean didn't reply, but just stumbled into his bed, face down into his pillow, that was when the long silence had started.

So far Sam's got his brother stripped down to his undershirt and boxers and put a bucket beside the bed. He's contemplating texting Cas because he's not sure he can handle Dean waking up in the middle of the night, still drunk.

_Don't talk about Mom when you couldn't even be there for her._

_You just have to make it all about yourself, don't you?_

Sam makes his decision, picks up his phone, and texts Cas.

_Dean drunk, need help. Can you come here?_

The message gets delivered and there is no reply, except for a knock at the door. Sam gets up, lets Cas in, and Cas takes a look at Dean all sprawled out before going and seating himself on the couch.

"I'm here," he says, "go to sleep. Do you want to take my room?"

"I…" Sam bites his lip, heart thumping, because he can't and doesn't want to see Dean like this. Not anymore. Not again.

_Selfish. Can't even look after your brother._

"Sam," Cas says, voice low and soothing. "It's all right if you want to take my room. I know you feel distressed when your brother has too much to drink… he told me. And he won't think you are a bad person for avoiding this situation."

"Cas…"

"Go, get some sleep," Cas repeats, holding out his key card. "Dean will be fine, and so will I. You need to take care of your health."

 _My health is the most cared for,_  Sam wants to say, but he swallows, nods, and takes the keys.

He tries not to feel too guilty when he gets into Cas's room, and remembers that this is better for both him and Dean.

**~o~**

Cas has barely been snoozing for an hour or so when consciousness floods in. It's abrupt and he feels it in the pit of his stomach, that he needs to be alert, and he wonders what woke him up, until he hears it. Dean is muttering in his sleep.

"Dean?" he calls out, quiet and cautious, not wanting to startle him, but there is no reply. Instead, the muttering stops.

The night is dark, calm and warm with weak, silver light falling through the windows out of a sky stained deep blue. There are no cars outside, no hooting owls, no audible crickets. Nothing. It's sinister and yet, in some ways, comforting.

Cas sits up in his bed, pushing away his covers as he observes at his roommate, but Dean's gone still now. Silence continues to enclose the room, to the point that Cas can hear the humming of the air conditioner. He's considering going to sleep again when Dean makes another sound.

"Dean?"

Dean stirs, doesn't answer, but a few seconds later there is a rustle as he kicks back his covers and sits up. Cas is about to go over to look but before he can move Dean's darting out of the bed and into the bathroom. The light switches on and Dean doesn't even bother shutting the door behind him. Instead there is a  _thud_ , bringing Cas to his feet and rushing in after Dean, who's kneeling in front of the bowl.

Shallow breaths echo around the small room and Cas goes ahead to crouch beside Dean, laying a hand on his shoulder.

"Dean," he repeats, softer this time.

Red-rimmed eyes reveal themselves and Dean blinks slowly at Cas, just before he has to turn away to vomit into the toilet, moaning when the retching jars his recovering ribs.

"C-Cas—" Dean chokes, throwing up again and using his good hand to clutch at his side as tears spill onto the toilet seat. Cas moves instantly to grab the plastic-lined trashcan from the bedroom and waits through another bout of vomiting, cringing at the sounds Dean's making. When they're both sure that Dean won't throw up for at least another couple of minutes, Cas helps Dean lean against the wall and sets the trash can in his lap, knowing it won't help the pain too much but still hoping for the best.

Thus starts a long and painful night. Dean throws up in agonising heaves and Cas's own abdomen aches in sympathy when his roommate has to catch his breath like he's dying, one hand on his stomach. He stays there, though, right beside Dean, holding on to his shoulder and bringing him wet washcloths and water, and it takes a lot of time before Dean can stop vomiting long enough to sleep with his head leaning against the bathroom wall. Cas settles in with him, pledging to make a Gatorade run as soon as he can, but all his plans go to waste when Dean wakes up an hour later to vomit again and this time he shivers through the heaving, making Cas dive for the blanket.

"Th-thanks," Dean whispers once he's done. Cas helps him get comfortable and warm and Dean accepts the help, moving forward to rest his head on the rim of the trash can.

"Are you still nauseous?" Cas asks him, placing a hand on his back. Dean nods, and Cas rubs a couple of circles, stopping momentarily when Dean shudders and coughs into the bin. He retches a few times, shuddering and gasping for breath, and slumps back down, arms draped around the bin, still coughing and spitting in what seems like a never-ending cycle.

When Dean's nausea seems to have died down somewhat, Cas gets up and moves over to turn the shower on. He waits for it to get comfortably warm, then comes back to get Dean to stand up. His friend barely protests as Cas manhandles him into the bathtub, clothes and all, and Cas lets him sit down before leaning in to undress Dean.

Dean honest-to-God  _giggles_  when Cas starts to peel his undershirt off. "You g-gotta buy me dinner first, Cas," he says, voice barely more than a whisper, water trickling down his face, clumping his long lashes into tepees and bringing some of the spark back in his bleary eyes.

"The naked human body does not faze me, thanks to my profession," Cas reminds him as he throws Dean's sopping t-shirt aside and bends over to get him out of his boxers.

"I'll show you mine if you sh-show me yours."

"Sure." Dean is naked now and Cas turns the shower off once his friend is soaked, grabbing the small bottle of liquid soap from the shelf above. He hands it to Dean. "Use it."

Dean obeys, uncoordinated hands soaping various parts of his body as Cas opens the shampoo bottle and dumps some of it into his own palm. He rubs it into Dean's scalp, ignoring Dean's moans and chuckles, wondering how much Dean's had to drink to  _still_  be intoxicated.

When they're done and Cas has gotten Dean into his pyjamas he settles Dean into his bed, gets him to lie on his side, and lowers himself into Sam's bed. Cas shuffles about a little, blankets scratching against him as he turns towards Dean, trying to ignore the sleep that prods at his senses and keeping an eye out for his roommate. He is, however, unsuccessful and before long he is drifting in and out, in a warm, pleasant world full of a million moments with Claire, watching a movie with her, buying her ice cream and listening to her talk about school, learning to braid her long, blonde hair and packing her lunches and her sweet smile…

_Dad. You should have left when Uncle Gabe told you to. He warned you. He warned you about this._

A blaze of orange, yellow, red, and purple smoke creating sooty trails in the air, and she's burning away right before him.

_It doesn't matter how much you love me, Dad. You let me die._

Cas suffocates, coughing and choking, unable to breathe. He tries to scream but he can't. He can't see anything except for his daughter burning away; can't move to even protect her. And the fire. So hot. His throat burns from the heat, from his ragged breaths, but he needs to save Claire. Gabe never said Claire would be in danger if Cas didn't move out, he never said that. This isn't happening. This isn't happening.

_Claire!_

A hand clutches at Cas's shoulder. Sam is frantic, Dean is before them, bleeding, his arm at an odd angle.

_Cas, he's dying. CAS!_

A crash, an explosion, and Cas chokes on his own breath. His throat is closing up, it's like his lungs can't inflate, like they're still burning from the scalding heat of the flames, like they're charred all the way down, like his soul's being cooked in a giant flame.

His eyes snap open.

_It was a dream._

Cas heaves in erratic breaths, hungry for air, trying to scramble out of bed but the world does a dizzy spin around him and all he can do is stay where he is, limp and sweating and pretty much useless. That's when he hears the sounds from the bathroom.

Retching. Again. Cas takes a few more deep breaths and musters enough strength to turn to the bed beside him—sure enough, Dean's not in it. Cas knows then that he should probably go check on Dean in the bathroom but he feels so weak, still paralysed, and he can't help but stay where he is, or he's sure he'll just topple onto the floor.

The nightmare seems to have sucked any energy he had. So he waits there, in his bed, listening to Dean and blinking at the ceiling, trying to gather his emotions.

Dean finishes and Cas hears the toilet flush, then the tap run. The bathroom door opens and he squints at the light as Dean emerges, dabbing a towel against his wet face, holding his side with his other hand. The healing cuts on his face aren't visible right now, and Dean's hearing has been getting better but Cas can see the other things. The cast, the pain.

The explosion.

_Cas, he's dying. CAS!_

He's choking again in that moment because they're all going to die. They're all going to  _die_.

_Little brother, you'll be pleased to know that Special Agent Mary Winchester was actually undercover. Investigating the Demons._

"Cas?!"

Dean's surprised, mildly panicked voice doesn't stop Cas from trying to gag on scorching soot and debris, to free his lungs of whatever it is—

"Cas, hey, what is it?!  _Cas_!"

There are hands on his cheeks, slightly clammy, but rough and solid all the same. Cas is back in the motel room the next instant, in bed, and Dean is kneeling on the mattress beside him, his hands cupping Cas's face and his eyes reflecting a world of worry.

Cas blinks, feels something wet slip down his temple and onto his lumpy pillow.

"Cas." Dean's voice is calmer now, lower, closer to a whisper. "It's okay," he says, settling himself down on his haunches. He thumbs away the tears that continue to dampen Cas's skin. "D'you want some tea?"

Cas licks his dry lips and tries to pull himself together. He knows Dean must still be feeling the aftereffects of whatever he'd had had to drink, even if he'd thrown up a few times now. The last thing he wants to do is bother his sick friend.

"I'm all right, Dean," he mutters, but it comes out sounding less sincere than he'd wanted it to. "You should rest." His voice is more solid this time.

Dean looks into his eyes, just stays there, callused hands on Cas's cheeks, gaze bleeding into Cas's for a whole minute and there is something about it, about the naked vulnerability of the moment, that makes Cas's heart flutter.

He ignores it.

"I'm better now," Dean replies, and it seems like Cas spoke a long time ago, like years have passed with them just looking at each other this way. He stops touching Cas the next moment, and a sense of loss hangs in the air, like something was cut short too early. "I, uh…" Dean gestures to the bathroom. "I think that was the last of the whiskey."

"I doubt you have purged—"

Dean's face scrunches in disgust. "Don't say that word, man. I'm not drunk anymore, okay? Let's leave it at that."

"Nonetheless, Dean, you should rest."

"Yeah, I got that, Florence," Dean says, glancing at his bed. "And if you're good, I'm gonna do just that."

"I'm fine."

"Clearly." Dean looks at his bed again but before either he or Cas can think, Cas reaches a hand forward, covering Dean's palm with his. Dean, halfway into leaving, stops, and it takes a heartbeat before he squeezes Cas's hand back and slumps down, seemingly drained, right there beside Cas.

Their fingers remain entangled with each other while Cas shifts over, watching Dean turn to him as he props himself up by his free elbow. He presses his mouth into a thin line, eyes boring into Cas's. "So," he says, "that day. Or… that night. You dreaming about it?"

Cas doesn't have to ask him  _which_  night. He snuggles into his blankets, trying to ignore the shivers that run through his spine that can't be stopped even by the warmth of Dean's hand. "Sometimes the tea helps," Cas replies.

"Yeah," says Dean. "And other times?"

"I believe it's termed as  _Acute Stress Disorder_."

"What, now you're a shrink, too?"

"That is the medical term, Dean."

"Cas." A sigh. "Man, you're really weird." Dean pauses. "But that's okay, you know? Our family is kinda weird. All of us."

"All of us," Cas repeats, whispering, the magnitude of what Dean just said lightening his heart and making him giddy. Dean and his little world; so closed off, but so beautiful. But Dean including Cas in it… it feels like an  _honour_.

"What?" Dean's voice interrupts his thoughts, hand squeezes his once more. It's so comforting to be like this, like it was meant to be all along, and Cas doesn't know what to think of it.

He shakes his head and runs a finger along the bedsheet, playing with a little fold on it. "You think I'm family. That is…"

"Feels like an exclusive club?" Cas can practically hear the smirk in Dean's voice.

"Yes."

"Well, then, how about this?"

 _It comes out of nowhere,_  but Cas thinks he expected it. He doesn't do anything to stop it because in his heart he wants it to happen, and he doesn't know why, but right there, in that cheap motel room, when Dean Winchester kisses Cas, it's like a supernova, like something Cas has been waiting for, all his life… without  _knowing_  this was it.

So when Dean goes for it, when his hand leaves Cas's to inch past Cas's t-shirt collar, Cas feels the rough fingers against his skin, sighs into Dean's mouth, and flicks his tongue once before throwing out an arm and dragging Dean closer as gently as he can. He lets Dean curve a leg around him and their hips touch, all new and glorious and beautiful as Dean grinds once, and then again. Cas lets his own fingers slip past Dean's waistband, touches peaks of Dean's hip bones and drags further down.

Their hips are moving rhythmically, breaths heavy, kisses open-mouthed and wet. Dean's teeth touch Cas's jaw, and he moans when Cas trails lower down Dean's boxers. It's a million moments in one, sharp and hot and heavy, and Dean moans again, all sweaty and guttural, stammering out Cas's name.

"C-Caa…Casss… oh God…"

 _It comes out of nowhere_ , that single moment when it all goes to hell. When Cas finally registers what he's been doing, when Dean stops to look at him, when the uncomfortable silence between them seems to break everything they'd built.

**~o~**

"So what the hell happened between you and Cas, anyway?"

Sam's sitting with Dean on a patch of grass, the morning cool and breezy but also a little gloomy. Dean had woken up pretty much sober, but hungover and in a sour mood, and Cas refused to talk to either of them, except for quietly informing Sam that he would be returning to Palo Alto, to move to Amelia's place before Sam and Dean got back home. Oddly enough, Dean seems to be on board with that plan, too.

"I know you're a pain in the ass when you're drunk," Sam continues, "but did you really piss Cas off that much?"

"Nah," Dean replies, but there's something odd about his tone. "Dude's just eager to see his little girl. Who am I to stop him?"

"Right," says Sam, "after that fit you threw at the restaurant yesterday, I totally believe you."

Dean narrows his eyes. "Shut up and eat your Lucky Charms, Sammy. We're here to see Mom, not to talk about your crush on Cas."

"Talk about projecting," Sam mutters under his breath, his heart skipping a beat (yet again) when he lays eyes on his mother's headstone. It's simple and beautiful, and it's right there, like she's right here after all these years that Sam avoided her. He barely slept last night, partly because he was worried about Dean being drunk out of his mind, and also about visiting here.

He doesn't know what to say. He wishes he knew what to say. How do you talk to dead people anyway? Where should Sam be starting? Should he apologise, like he did to Dean? Should he tell her how sucky life is without her? Should he wish she was alive?

She would know that, wouldn't she? He doesn't need to say that at her grave, not with him and Dean eating the Lucky Charms she'd tried to send to Sam via Clint. They are not conventional, that way. Who eats cereal at their mom's grave in the first place?

"Sammy."

Sam turns to his brother, trying to remember those questions he has, stored in his head in a sequence. Like some class back at college. Ask the teacher to get an answer.

_What if Mom won't forgive me?_

_What if I hurt her so badly that she can't forgive me, even wherever she is now?_

"Do you want me to start?"

Dean's voice is quiet—almost too quiet, and Sam swallows past a giant lump in his throat that he just noticed the presence of. He nods, because maybe Mom will be less pissed off if Dean was the one to break the ice here.

Dean leans sideways a little, only so his shoulder briefly touches Sam, and Sam concentrates on his mother's headstone, willing himself to keep his vision from getting blurry.

**_Mary Winchester_ **

**_Mother, daughter, wife, and friend_ **

**_You are today, where only the bravest go._ **

The  _bravest_. Where is that? Heaven? A field somewhere? A mission?

No… she's dead. Dean saw her. Bobby saw her. There was an autopsy. It's not a mission. But she isn't here anyway, and suddenly Sam wishes she were alive and just faking for the mission. Maybe he should ask Clint about it. Or tell Clint that he's sorry and maybe Clint, if their mom is still alive, could relay that to her. Maybe it won't have to be so bad.  _Maybemaybemaybemaybe._

Dean clears his throat, snapping Sam out of his reverie. "Mom," he begins, and his voice seems like it's stuck in his throat, just like Sam's is right now.

This time,  _Sam_  touches his shoulder to Dean, nods, and even though Dean is looking directly at the headstone, Sam knows his brother saw him and that Dean appreciates it.

"Hey, Mom," Dean begins again. "I—" He stops, turns to look behind. Sam frowns and follows his brother's gaze but there's nothing, and Dean seems a little confused.

"Dean?"

"Sorry," Dean replies, "thought I heard—"

This time he is interrupted by a loud noise, a firecracker bang, a spray of red, and ultimately, Sam's own voice screaming and calling for help.


	12. Interlude: Phase Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short interlude! As usual, thank you to Naila and Allison for the beta, and Ellen and Sanjy for the support. I love you guys!

 

 

Mary's been undercover a few times, but this doesn't feel the same as the others. Of course, none of her previous jobs included going  _deep_  undercover or even staying that way for too long, so she can understand why it's all so different on face value, but… there's something else. There is something ominous here, something sinister about this mission. It's a feeling, a fear that she can't seem to shake off. Maybe it's because these are some of the most dangerous people whom she's about to face and work with, but it runs deeper.

_Like she won't make it back._

She shakes those thoughts off and makes her way to Clint's work station where he's typing in some reports. She'd gone shopping last evening, after that quiet little dinner session with Dean, and she'd gotten some stuff for Sam that she wanted to pass on in case she would still be working the case during Thanksgiving.

Clint turns around the moment she approaches him, as though he was expecting her. "Hey," she says, looking around to make sure no one's paying attention to her. There are very few people in the office who know that Mary's taking this undercover job and she needs to be careful not to let the others realise what she's doing.

She takes a deep breath. "I need a favour."

"Of course," Clint says. "What's up?"

"I have some stuff you need to send…"

"—to Sam?"

She smiles. "You know me well."

"Yeah, I do. So, when?"

"Thanksgiving."

"Great, I'll grab it once the day is over."

There's brief silence, and she wants to talk to him more, tell him about the unease in her chest, but she holds it back. She's in the FBI, for fuck's sake. She's trained well, she's kicked ass, and she's not about to lose this time either. She knows what she's made of, and even if Clint's a good friend, he doesn't need to know about her worries or fears.

Yeah.  _Good friends_. That's about it. That's what they've decided they are.

A few weeks ago, Mary had been on a date with Clint. Exactly one date. It had ended on an okay note—but both of them knew by then that they were better off as friends. Clint had come over for coffee after— _really_  just coffee; and kissed Mary goodbye on the cheek as he left. They hadn't even had to verbally agree on the friend thing.

Mary's had a few dates since John, and more than a few one-night stands, but none of them had been serious. This one, though, since it was Clint, she'd told Dean. Dean was pleased and she could see he was genuinely happy for her, though she wonders what her sons would say if she told them about her various failed dates before. They've been a pretty liberal family, not interfering with each other's lives, so she doesn't think they'd care, although, since they're still her children, she prefers not to discuss these things with them. Not unless there's something serious in the future.

"Agent Winchester."

Bobby's gruff voice breaks Mary out of her thoughts and she realises that this is  _it_. She collects herself, lets herself into her SAC's office, where he gestures to her to take a seat.

"Ya gonna need me to go through this with you again?" Bobby asks her, leaning back in his chair.

"No, I'm good."

"Great. I gotta have this talk with Agent Meyers later today, so thanks for makin' my job easy, I guess."

Mary frowns at Bobby's words. "Raphael Meyers?"

"Yeah, we're sending him undercover, too. Another case. He knows you're workin' this one."

"Who else?"

"Knows about you?" Bobby asks her. "It's just you, me, Clint, Raphael, and Linda. Linda—Agent Tran, like you know—will be your handler. All points of contact will be secure and monitored."

"I know."

Bobby looks at her for a while, then smiles wanly. "Good luck, Mary."

"Thanks, Bobby."

"You ready?"

"Always."

**~o~**

**~The Houston Herald~**

**BREAKING: FBI AGENT FIRED FROM DEPARTMENT FOR SUSPECTED INVOLVEMENT IN LOCAL TERRORIST ACTIVITY**

**_Houston, Texas:_ ** _Special Agent Mary Winchester faces termination and possible incarceration on being discovered to have an alleged connection with terrorist activities._

_(contd. on Page 13)_

**~o~**

Mary dyes her hair brown, gets in touch with Linda, and sets off on her journey the next morning, wondering if Sam might ever come home to find the headlines surrounding her termination and question what happened. Hopefully she would be home to explain it to him by then.

Hopefully.

If she survives.

 _Dammit_.


End file.
